


Ferris Wheel Blues

by HappyBlueInk



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Carnival, Caryl, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyBlueInk/pseuds/HappyBlueInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No ZA. AU-Fic. Daryl is a mechanic for a traveling carnival. One night when Daryl is called to fix the engine of the ferris wheel, he stumbles upon a small child. Who's the kid? And where's the parent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this idea even came from. I just suddenly felt compelled to write this for some strange reason. If you like it, please let me know otherwise I may not even continue this piece or frequent it like my other fics. I had to get this idea out otherwise I wouldn't be able to finish my other fics currently running now. It was a bunch of head noise I needed to get out. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it.

He stepped out onto the rickety old porch, boards creaking and wailing beneath his bare feet as he moved to its edge. He brought a calloused hand to his brow shielding the harsh glare of the setting sun from his eyes, squinting at the openness of the grassy fields. His upper lip curled as he glanced over the plains, sounds of birds and the chittering of grasshoppers causing enough of a ruckus that he had reluctantly gotten up from his midday nap.

Daryl rubbed the sleep from out of his eyes with the heel of his hand as he adjusted the cup of lukewarm coffee in his free hand taking care not to spill. He let out a low groan as he went to stretch his lithe body up and back, both arms outstretched, his cup still clasped tight in hand. A yawn escaped his lips as he continued to arch up; the succinct popping sound of his cracking back seemed to drown out the background noise of the wilderness expanse. He felt his wife-beater rising up his stomach to reveal a gnarled scar that slithered across his navel, quickly making for the hem to pull it down if someone happened to walk by.

The door behind him was suddenly thrust open accompanied by a lot of garbled shouting. A large burly man shoved past him, making his coffee splash out of the mug and down his hand, droplets pelting his head and face. Daryl let out a huff and set the mug on the rail of the porch, wiping his wet hands on his ratty-holed jeans to dry them. The man whirled on him angrily clipping the walkie-talkie he had just been shouting into back on his thick leather belt with the huge round silver buckle The man's balding ponytail whipped around his face like some sort of flimsy headband. The tinge of red from anger and high blood-pressure starting to creep up from his neck and into his cheeks.

"Dammit Dixon! Watch where yer standin', ya fuckin' moron. Googly eying that damned sunset like some pussy-whipped bitch when ya should be out settin' them rides up like yer 'posed to." Snapped the man.

He got close to his face, the faint stench of liquor permeating off the man as he thumped a meaty finger against Daryl's chest.

"Useless sack o' shit. Don't even know why I still keep ya 'round." He poked harder into the younger man's chest with his garish-ringed finger. Daryl had to dig his nails into his clenched fists to keep himself from sucker-punching the asshole in front of him. "Git on with yer fuckin' duties 'fore I knock them teeth inta the backa yer head."

Daryl bit his bottom lip doing his best to withhold his swelling temper, more specifically to hold his tongue. He had to shut his eyes and let out a strained sigh before he finally grumbled out a "yessir" in response to Jackson's demands. The man seemed to bark at him like he were some fucking mindless drone; some half-minded inbred that had been left out in the sun too long. He hated that. Even if it was just words, they still bothered him. Daryl took a step back cocking his head at the fat man and threw open the screen door into the run-down shack leaving his half-drunk coffee on the rail. He padded down the narrow hallway, bumping along boxes and crates, squeezing past to the small closet-bedroom he would be stuck in for the next few weeks at the end of the hall.

His eyes glanced about the room, hovering over a few torn-up old movie posters that had yellowed at the corners from the brazen sun, wrinkles in the once smooth glossy paper. The smell of cigarettes and dust was thick in the air. Hell, it was like that throughout the entire shack. It hadn't always been that way. At least not initially. When Daryl had first stepped foot into his temporary home a few days ago, the air had been filled with a woody, earthy scent that reminded him of the woods he grew up in back in Georgia. He was silently reminded of home and it made him wish he was more verbal about his place in the carnival troupe. Fuck staying in the hell-hole of a shack, he'd rough it out with the other carnival hands or out among the stars and wilderness if necessary. Jackson wouldn't allow it though. Daryl was always kept close enough to be within arm's reach no matter what. At any cost.

Daryl clicked his tongue against his teeth unamused by the form of "favoritism" he seemed to attract because of his connection with Jackson. It had never made things easy for him. He was fine with that. He had fought most of his life and it would continue that way no matter what. He kicked open his trunk of clothes at the foot of the lopsided cot and pawed through the garments until he found his faded red work-shirt. He stuck his arms through the sleeves and began buttoning it up. Daryl's mind wandered as he worked his fingers up the shirt. He wondered had he not been thrust into this life, if he would have done something different with his time. Rather than spending the next decade of his life as a mechanical engineer for a lack-luster traveling carnival, could he have been doing something better? He felt his lips tug into a scowl knowing the answer to his own question. What would it matter? He was a worthless piece of shit and wouldn't amount to anything. He'd be stuck doing the same shit for the rest of his days; forget if he ever got around to paying off the debt, that would never happen. He buttoned the last button before reaching back into his trunk and finding a pack of cigarettes tucked away with a box of matches. He would need those later.

He could tell it was gonna be one of those nights. It was already in the makings of one of those nights and he would best prepare for it with his smokes and a match. He let out a sigh before shoving his boots onto his feet and left making his way towards the end of the field where the booths and rides were being set up for the nights' affairs.

-/-/-

Loud. The night was loud and full of so much noise, Daryl found it impossible to think. There were so many kids running around and screaming their little lungs out, babies wailing and the rowdily drunk men shouting at one another or the carnival attendants. This shit was getting on his nerves too fast and he wasn't prepared to be out with so much of the bottom dredges of the public. There were so many people all bustling about the booths, their corn-dogs in hand mustard and ketchup smeared down their fronts with a small child being drug along in the other. The sight made him disgusted with the general population. These carnivals tended bring out all the bottom-feeders from out of the wet-works it seemed.

Tonight was different. There were TOO many people here. That never happened opening night in a small town like this. It seemed like the entire town had come to congregate at the heart of the fairgrounds like a sort of hive-mind. The noise had been steadily testing his patience, till that last straw when he heard several children screaming bloody-murder and he could handle no more with the shouting and crying. Daryl hustled behind the booth tents where only the clerks and carnival hands had access to. He needed to get away as quickly as possible from all this head noise. It wasn't like he would be missed anyhow if he just ducked out for a short time. And it was like they wouldn't be able to find him neither, every bastard that was worth something had a walkie dangling from their hip. Every poor bastard, including himself.

Daryl made longer strides trying to quicken his pace as he hopped over a tangle of cables and stumbled out of the way of another encroaching attendant who moved into his path. He felt himself fall back against a rail, tripping over his feet and knew he had made it to his destination, his back slamming against the cool metal. He was at the outskirts of the carnival where the noise couldn't strangle his ears and the obnoxious fair-goers couldn't bother him with absurd questions as if he were an attendant. He let out a sigh in respite as he climbed up onto the rail, boots hooking below the bottom rung to keep his balance.

He removed the cigarette that had been tucked above his ear most of the night, popping it into his mouth. Daryl had fought back the urge to tuck tail and run so he could smoke in peace, but after finding himself stuck with a wrench in the engine of the broken down "zipper" ride, the noise suddenly became too much for him to comfortably deal with. No sooner had he shoved his wrench and Phillips screwdriver into his belted tool satchel, Daryl was out of sight. He finished the job and immediately set off in search of quiet solace. He struck a match against the rail, bringing the tiny flickering flame to the tip of his cigarette. He breathed it to life and took a long generous drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and out through his nostrils, exhaling in a calm sigh. Daryl knocked the ashes off the tip as he enjoyed the comfortable silence; the soft roar of the crowds in the distance barely audible, chirping of crickets easing his befuddled mind.

He enjoyed nights like these where he could sneak away and just sit by himself with a smooth cigarette tucked away for safe keeping. The dull buzzing of a mosquito flirted with his neck, dipping in close to leave its toxic kiss upon weathered-exposed skin. He swatted the bug with a firm slap, killing it and nonchalantly picking the dead body off his hand as if that was how it had always been.

"Asshole." He muttered under his breath, wiping the guts on the thigh of his pants.

A loud crackle broke the gentle silence, reminding Daryl that he wasn't free of the bullshit he had just left. A garbled voice barked from the speaker of the walkie demanding a mechanic. Jackson was looking for him... Again.

"Dixon, the fuck're you? Yer stupid ass is needed at the Ferris Wheel. Shit just broke for the third time tanight. Now git on it 'fore I drag yer ass to it." The voice snarled loud so everyone with a walkie could hear it.

Daryl let out the stream of smoke he had held and snubbed the last bit of his cigarette out. He huffed at being called out like that but shrugged it off. It wasn't like this was anything new in his life. He unhooked the walkie from his pocket and groused, "Be there ASAP."

He clipped the infernal black box to his belt making his way back to the heart of the fairgrounds. Of course, the ferris wheel being the star attraction had to be in the middle of the fucking park where everyone seemed to congregate. It was like a beacon that spoke out to the simpletons that harkened for their twenty-dollar ticket stubs to be wasted on a ride that did nothing but reveal a night view and turned ever so gently. He didn't understand the appeal of the ride. It was boring and broke down most nights.

Jackson always called on Daryl to fix the stupid thing at least once each night. He had grown so accustomed to the engine of the ferris wheel, that it became a sick-cycle love affair. He would leave to take care of the engine of another ride that had just died and no sooner had he ducked down into the hood of the broken machine, the ferris wheel would call him back to mend its broken heart. It was his jealous lover and Daryl hated the damned machine. The ferris wheel was a mock interpretation of his life and how it had always been it seemed. Just when Daryl thought he would be able to break things off, when everything seemed like they were all fixed, things combusted and fell apart and he was stuck yet again with another sliver of hope yanked from his hands.

Daryl finally came to the base of the ferris wheel, its bright lights illuminating the area so everyone could see him and he could see them. He hated how effulgent the damned thing was. Its lights never ceased to dim nor burn out it seemed. Frankly, he wished the fucking wheel would just topple over and he could be done with the damned thing. He couldn't even count the several times he had smashed his finger with a hammer, dropped a wrench on his face from beneath its carriage or been squirted in the face from its oil on his hands and toes. It was just a bad-news ride for him through and through. The only reason the fucking ride was kept continuously carnival after carnival, was because Daryl knew exactly how it worked. Every mechanism and every pulley inside the engine he could make sing like a symphony opera singer with no more than just a few minutes of tinkering away with undivided attention. If he could make it do a back-flip and recite the first verse of "Freebird", he was sure he could do it.

Daryl chuckled a bit to himself as he made his way towards the back-end of the ride. There it was. The heart of the ferris wheel. It was encased in a metal slating; its chipped blue paint weathered from the many harsh suns it had sat under since '79. He patted the hood before plucking a set of keys from his hip, undoing the lock and setting it on the key-ring. He threw up the hood as a cloud of steam flooded the area. Immediately Daryl backed away before the steam went past his face knowing all too well what happened with a face full of steam. He shifted his weight back and forth from his left to his right foot as the steam dissipated and he was clear to begin work on the engine. His first encounter with the ferris wheel had given him quite the trouble. It was almost exactly the same scenario save for the fact that it had been his first time trying to deal with the obnoxious sonovabitch.

The pressure valves all seemed to be in good working order. Never a good sign. Always meant something was wrong that he couldn't visually see. He stooped low removing a panel underneath the engine, pulling himself under the carriage to take a look. It was the smell of burnt flesh and singed fur that initially had him scrambling out from under the engine. Daryl crawled to his hands and knees, trying not to heave from the wretched stink of death that had slapped him hard from under the engine carriage.

"Is that fuckin' engine fixed yet Dixon?" Crackled the walkie-talkie from Daryl's hip. He gulped down the need to heave, massaging the base of his throat to ease himself from that driving notion to purge. He fell back sitting on his legs and quickly retorted into the walkie, "Yeah, almost got it. Smells like a couple o' cats- maybe possums got caught in the gears. Have 'em out in a bit."

"Hurry the hell up! I'm gettin' complaints 'bout it not bein' up, Dixon! And you know what that means? Money we ain't makin' so make it quick or you ain't gettin' paid neither!" Jackson snapped and the walkie went dead with a static buzz.

"Fuckin' asshole- like ta see him fuckin' crawl his slitherin' fat-ass under this piece of shit and do it himself," Daryl grumbled to himself as he yanked the rag from his back pocket and wrapped it around his nose and mouth. He would be better prepared this way to remove the dead things from out of the gears without getting himself sick inhaling the putrid fumes of death. It wasn't often that wild animals got caught in the gears of the machines, but it did happen and it was almost always the most disgusting thing to clean up he had found out.

Daryl spent another few minutes extracting the dead bodies out from under the carriage, grimacing the entire time at the mess of bones and gore that sat piled near his legs. Almost no fur could be salvaged nor was there any that made the animals any more distinguishable. Their small skulls were crushed to broken splinters and sinewy muscle ground into a mush. He felt bad for the poor bastards that had climbed up into the gears hoping for a warm place to sleep for the night only to find themselves ground up to nothing but a wad of meat and bone shards.

Finally wriggling out from beneath the engine, he replaced the bottom panel and made his way over to connect the power cables to the power generator. Daryl flipped the switch of the engine and it gently purred to life. He felt himself smirking at having accomplished his mission for the night. He tugged the hood down and patted it again before locking the doors up and walking away.

A small cough stole him from his moment of triumph and he had to double-take to make sure he heard right. Daryl looked around before spying a small girl sitting behind one of the booths nearest the ferris wheel, her bright blue eyes finding his and holding steady on him. She clutched tighter onto the stuffed animal that she had won at one of the booths, curling more into herself making attempts to shrink away from the strange man. He froze not really sure what to do or how to approach the child who was obviously afraid of him just as much as he was of her. Daryl looked away and pretended to fiddle with his belted tool-bag, moving the wrench and screwdrivers around creating a symphony of clanging. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the girl's blonde hair was pulled back in a headband hanging limply above her shoulders and again her eyes somehow found his. There was a certain fear in her eyes that he knew all too well himself. It wasn't just the fear of being separated from a parental figure; this was something deeper that he had felt himself before.

A voice crackled out of the walkie-talkie at his hip breaking his train of thought forcing him to focus on the information being spewed out. "There's a report of a missing child on the fairgrounds. Blonde-hair. Blue-eyes. Female." Daryl's eyes trained on the girl and made a mental check-list ticking off all the details being listed that the girl had. "Her name is Sophia. She will be wearing a white-striped shirt with a bright red headband in her hair. If you find this child report to the front of the fairgrounds. The mother will be waiting for you there. If you saw this child leave with someone please let us know so the authorities can be notified."

She was the missing child that they were looking for. Daryl let out a low growl at his dumbassed luck. If it wasn't one thing it was another and he sure as fuck knew he wasn't fond of kids or sure on how to exactly deal with them. Yeah, tonight was one of those nights.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the feedback on this piece! I was really astounded by all the support for it. I'm glad you guys like the direction I'm taking this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

The little girl sat still and Daryl stood just as rigid as she, the two in a silent standoff; the other being just as unsure as the one in front of them. She let out another cough tightening her grip on her stuffed animal scooting an inch away from him. Daryl scowled realizing that this shit was not gonna be easy. He had never really dealt with kids before and having to escort a missing child at that didn't bode well in his favor. Shit was never in his favor even when all the cards were on the table laid out just for him, he somehow managed to fuck it up no matter what.

"Yer lost." Daryl finally grunted out, scratching at his nose unsure of whether he should be asking her or telling her what she already knew.

She nodded at the dirt-smudged mechanic, her eyes still trained on him like a hawk. Her unblinking gaze was beginning to make him uncomfortable. He didn't like being stared at, even if he was just some piece of shit country boy. He hated being the center of attention, but somehow found himself at the heart of it. And here he was— again: center of this child's attention; her "savior" to deliver her to her Ma. The girl's eyes were locked on him like he simply wasn't real and if she looked away for just a second Daryl might just disappear from her.

Finally the girl spoke.

"Can you take me to my Momma?" Her voice was so small and warbled in its pitch as if this were the first time in a long while she had spoken to another human being.

Daryl diverted his attention to his feet, making attempts to work the toe of his boot into the ground to create a hole. Maybe if he worked at it long enough he would dig a hole deep enough for him to hide in. This was just not his forte. Especially trying to be comforting to a frightened child, nope, no siree, not him. He sugar-coated nothin' when it came to dealin' with people and he sure as hell wouldn't start with a child. Kid had to learn on her own that life wasn't just rainbows and shit like that. His Daddy had made sure of that when he was growing up; whipped him up good he did.

Daryl had already made his bed though, he would just have to lie in it now. If he had just ignored the girl and kept on walking he wouldn't be feeling so out of place, but he didn't stop and he was stuck making attempts to coax the kid to him. He finally nodded at her realizing that she had been waiting on him to answer her question. The girl must have thought he was slow with how long he took to formulate his sentences in response to her statements.

"Yeah," he drawled a little unsure of whether he should have answered in the first place. Figurin' that he had already acknowledged her lack of presence with her Ma, only seemed fair he'd return her to her. "I can take ya to yer Ma." He finally muttered back, taking another look at her. "Yer Sophia, right?"

She nodded again. Her bushy blonde hair bobbing back and forth, her brows furrowed in hard angles. Poor kid was probably on the verge of spilling big ol' crocodile tears and didn't even know it with the way her big blue eyes glistened under the garish lights.

"You know my Momma? She send you fer me?" Her bottom lip trembled with such force Daryl was surprised she had even managed to form any coherent words.

Daryl fidgeted with the hangnail on his thumb, carefully chewing the skin off with precise nibbles. He seemed to only make things worse when he questioned the girl. There was obviously something more at work here than just being lost that had her scared shitless. He could feel Sophia's fear thick in the air and it was starting to really make him uncomfortable the way she was just emitted this amount of terror at the notion of being lost. This wasn't just the phobia of being separated from a loved-one. This was on a level much deeper than just physical appearances alone could reveal to him and he didn't want no part of that.

Daryl absently shook his head at the recollection, losing himself in his thoughts. The blonde girl's eyes were still trained on his form. He finally found his voice breaking the permeable silence.

"Let's just find yer Ma." He muttered, beckoning her over to him. "C'mon."

Sophia quirked a curious brow unsure of whether the man shuffling nervously before her was being truthful or just lying through his teeth. She squirmed a little in her spot before weighing his words carefully in her head. Finding the merit in what he said to be true, Sophia pushed to her feet, standing on shaky legs. She didn't move.

Daryl let out a frustrated sigh watching the inner clockwork of the girl's mind deciding on her next move. How was this so damned difficult? Why of all things did he attract broken things? It was like some fuckin' stupid curse with him. Even as a kid he would find the fucked up stray dogs that had been beaten within an inch of their lives by their owners, limpin' and snarling' their way along even with a link of sausage dangling from their mouths that he had given them. He'd been bit on more than one occasion trying to coax the mean bastards, but with the amount of cruelty they'd been shown, no small bit of kindness on his part made them any less resistant to his help. He would even stumble across the animals that had been struck by cars, strugglin' with their last breaths as they crawled along the asphalt on their bellies legs trailin' after 'em. Hell, Daryl had even seen his own Ma burned to nothin'.

The mechanic furrowed his brows at the thought of his Ma and the fire when he was a kid. It hadn't felt real and it still didn't. Daryl figured maybe he would run into her at one of the dives he would meander into one night after a shift and maybe they would acknowledge each other from the other end of the bar and go about their lives like it had never happened. He hadn't thought of his Ma in years and didn't quite figure why this tiny kid compelled him to dwell on his past. Daryl suddenly found himself stooping to get to the kid's level shaking off his own thoughts. He had to try and convince her to follow him otherwise, he'd probably be sittin' behind the damned Ferris Wheel all night exchanging awkward glances with the girl. Maybe he would be less intimidating if he wasn't standing around shuffling like a damned fool. His legs coiled beneath him, joints popping and groaning as he adjusted to a comfortable crouch.

"Kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya." He growled, fingers twitching. He was feeling the itch again. His nerves were creating an anxiety in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't shake off, which he knew could only be quelled with another cigarette. This shit was going to force him to finish the entire pack by the end of the night. He just knew that that was what would go down. "We can sit here all night, but if you ain't movin' I ain't takin' ya to yer Ma."

She shifted on scrawny chicken legs contemplating his words before taking a hesitant step forward. Daryl smirked knowing well that he had finally manipulated the situation to better suit his needs. He popped up from his crouched position, shaking out the pins and needles sensation ebbing up his calves. Gently massaging the sinewy muscle with deft fingers, working through the striated fibers.

Sophia let out another cough to let him know she was ready. She stood in front of him, arms wound tight around the neck of her stuffed animal. Daryl was sure if she had been holding an actual animal, the thing would have suffocated long before he ever found her. She had a mean death grip on the poor sonovabitch. Animal would have been squealing bloody murder and no one would hear it with all the racket goin' on from all the carnival games and people scurrying about their business. She coughed again. With her being so close, he noticed the wet sound of her cough then. The dull roar of the people on the other side of the Ferris wheel drowned out the finer details he had not caught the first time around. He wasn't sure what to think of this. Was the girl sick? What was with her coughing? Was she just clearing her throat? Maybe he was thinking too much into things.

Daryl shrugged listlessly at her and began his trek to the other side of the fair grounds with the girl in tow. He would check every few seconds to ensure she was still trailing behind him, but did not feel the need to do so as often when he would catch the small cough echoing behind him. Her steps were so featherlight he at one point thought he had lost Sophia; come to find she had been trailing him like his own damned shadow. He caught the gentle tug of a smile on her lips at his head jerking around looking for her.

Daryl scowled and grumbled out of earshot, "Fuckin' kids and their damned jokes, find shit so fuckin' funny."

They came across a large group of people that seemed particularly interested in their newest attraction: the bungee jump. The crowd was thick with people. Of course this would make things more difficult for him. Daryl ducked down in front of the girl so he was at her eye level.

"Follow me an' stay close." He replied, wagging his finger at her. She nodded jerkily at him making clear she understood, eyes wide and afraid.

He let out a deep sigh through his nostrils and took a step forward. Daryl pushed through the crowd trying his best to make a path for Sophia to follow after. His temper was beginning to get the better of him as he attempted to get around a stocky and rather drunk guest, whom had shoved him in retaliation. He waved for Sophia to stand back just in case the man decided to get rowdy with him.

"Move yer fuckin' ass out of my way. I ain't lookin' fer a fight." Daryl snarled tryin' to make clear he didn't want any trouble.

The man shoved him again forcing Daryl to take a step back. "C'mon ya pussy fuckin' hit me," the man slurred.

"Man, fuck you. I got a lil' girl. I ain't gonna fight ya." He growled eyes narrowed. He wasn't 'bout to trade hay-makers with some drunk that wouldn't even feel it. Why did it seem like the world was out to beat his ass any chance it got?

"Yeah fuck you, ya little bitch." The drunk sussed as he stumbled forward, swaying to and fro.

Daryl chewed at his cheek, fist clenched at his side, nails digging into rough flesh as he guided Sophia around the asshole giving him shit. If he weren't gonna move, may as well try and go 'round. After the first set of heavyset guests he had to tap on the shoulder to get to move out of his way, Daryl felt a strong tug at his shirt that near choked him a little at the collar. He looked down and saw Sophia's hand grabbing fistfuls of his coattails holding on for dear life. Her desire to choke out her plush prize had subsided and she traded its comfort for Daryl's shirt. He huffed as he tried adjusting his collar so she wouldn't choke him out too much as they made their way through the crowd.

It was like a marathon ducking around balloons, hopping over small children and swerving out of the way of oncoming strollers with gurgling babies. The babies worried him. More specifically the strollers did. The way the mothers drove those things made him fearful of the kinds of drivers they were like on the road. He would be lyin' if he had not yet to meet with the wheels of one of those things. Strollers hurt like a bitch.

They made it through the crowds after several minutes and he felt his body relax from the unwanted physical proximity he had to endure. Sophia seemed to relax just as the same letting out a heavy sigh alongside him. Daryl's scowl softened and he let out a chuckle as they spied the gates no more than a hundred yards away. Her grip on his shirt loosened but was still firmly bunched in her small fist.

"You can let go now, kid." He replied when she accidentally yanked on his shirt a second time, making him gasp hand flying to his throat, gingerly massaging it. Her brows furrowed and she quickly apologized, her voice wavering as if on the verge of being hit again. Daryl quirked a curious brow at her before reassuring her that he wasn't going to strike her.

"I ain't gonna hit ya kid. Just calm down." He grunted as he ushered her to the front gates. They had finally made it to their destination, but of course like all things in his life nothing was ever in his favor or even remotely as it was promised to him. No one was there. They were alone at the front gates and not a single person was waiting for them.

Daryl could feel the panic set in the girls steps as she scampered ahead of him towards the gate, peeking through the chain links. Her plush dangled forgotten at her side as she climbed up a bit to get better view leverage.

"You said my Momma would be here." Her voice quivered thick with an accusatory tone as she stepped down from the fence.

Sophia looked up, misty blue eyes glaring harshly at him. Daryl couldn't help but feel partially responsible. They said the Mother would be here, but that was simply not the case. He felt like a liar and a fool. What did he expect just taking initiative like that in hopes that things would go smoothly for him? Life never made it easy. Why would this time be any different?

Wasn't much at this point that could be done but figure out where the mother went or was. "One second," he murmured and depressed the button on the walkie to speak. "Dixon here. I've got that missin' lil' girl. Her Ma ain't anywhere in sight. I'm at the front gates."

The box crackled in his hand for a few seconds before a voice rasped back, "Tommy over. Which gates?"

"The parking lot front gates."

Another pause. "Ya damn moron." The walkie snapped. "She's at the other set of front gates. Can't you do nothin' right without fuckin' shit up, Dixon?"

"'Ey, fuck you Tommy. How the fuck was I su'posed to know that? What the hell you wan' me to do now?" He hissed into the receiver trying not to let Sophia hear the argument or his use of colorful language. The last thing he needed was for the girl to go complainin' to her Ma sayin' he tainted her precious daughter with his country boy slang.

There was a long pause before Tommy in a calm and collected tone replied, "Mrs. Peletier is on her way. Just stay where you are."

Daryl stared confused at what had just happened. It almost sounded like Tommy had just been verbally reprimanded because his tone had done a complete 180 degrees. He had taken on a slow and polite, yet forced tone with him. There had been no personal insult thrown in his face neither. Who the hell was this woman? He raked a hand through his hair unsure of whether he had just prodded the bull. What was he going to expect when he finally delivered the girl to her Ma. Was she going to flip her shit on him because he had found her daughter? He wasn't exactly the makings of a model citizen. Daryl was well aware that he was just some dirty white boy with his goat's scruff and a cigarette tucked above his ear, ratty shredded jeans and grease stains pattering his face and hands. The mother would take one look at him and assume he had defiled her little girl in some way, verbally or otherwise.

He looked to Sophia who was clinging to the fence tryin' to see if her Ma's car was still in the parking lot. He couldn't really blame the kid. He'd gotten lost like that before. 'Cept it had been for nine whole days and not a single person knew he'd been missin'. Daryl approached the girl, while still maintaining good distance from her. Somehow he had made it to the gates with nothing major happenin' in the process. The girl was fine beside her incessant cough that seemed to stir at the most infrequent times. She hadn't gotten lost or left from out of his sight. All they had to do was wait and Sophia would be taken off his hands and he could go back to hiding under one of the hoods of the broken-down engines. The thought made him ease up a bit.

"'Ey, yer Ma is on her way to meet us here." He drawled, his own fingers hooking through the links, eyes staring out at the herd of cars corralled in the parking lot.

Sophia looked up towards Daryl, her eyes finding his. They made brief eye contact, before Daryl looked away. Her gaze was still unnerving even if she didn't mean it to be. She nodded in thanks and let go of the fence moving away and towards the lamp post near the single ticket booth. She took a seat, her knobbly knees drawn up, stuffed animal clutched against her chest. Daryl followed after her leaning against the other side of the booth window. He fumbled at his chest pocket trying to fish a cigarette out of its packaging.

As he went to strike the match against the booth he felt a pair of eyes silently boring into him. He looked down to his right shoulder, Sophia's gaze carefully following every movement of his fingers. Daryl arched a brow at her, cigarette wiggling between his lips as he stared right back.

"Problem?" He challenged. Sophia's eyes watched as the cigarette bounced up and down as he mumbled under his breath things she couldn't quite make out.

Sophia opened her mouth then shut it. Daryl could see her tryin' to figure out whether she should talk back to him. She blinked a few times, before breaking her silence. "My Daddy smokes. I don't like it." She whispered looking away from Daryl at the mention of the patriarch. Seemed to him that the man was someone he didn't want to trifle with the way her tone quivered.

Daryl shrugged and tucked the cigarette above his ear, pocketing his box of matches. He dug his hands into his pockets letting out a long drawn out sigh throwing his head up. He glared at the stars in the dark blanket above his head wishing the girl's Ma would hurry the hell up so he could go back to being a white trash mechanic for a traveling carnival. He sure as hell weren't no babysitter. What the hell was he even doing? Why the fuck was he waiting? Wasn't like the pipsqueak couldn't wait herself. She'd be fine— but what if she wandered off with some jackass? It would be his head on the pike and that'd be the last thing he'd need. Especially having to face an angry mother. Hell hath no fury and he knew better'n most of that.

He angrily raked his fingers through his hair not quite understanding his own incessant need to take care of lost and damaged things. It never got him anywhere before— what made this girl any different than any other time? Why didn't he just keep walking? Just run away like he always did? Why did he bother to stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah... I don't have much to say beyond thank you all for being so supportive and interested in this silly fic of mine. If I could give you all a hug, I would totally do it. Don't know where this chapter came from. Simple drabbles that exploded into this huge chapter. I hope you all enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

His pace quickened as he patrolled back and forth in front of the ticket booth, head jerking to look over to the heavy crowds still enjoyin' themselves at the carnival. For as late as it was people still milled about at the attractions. Booths were still crammed with people trying desperately for that one prize, wastin' their money on cheap thrills and shitty rigged games. The theory that some guests, he often overheard at times, had 'bout them games bein' rigged? All true. Not a single one was legit and it bothered him some that the kid had one of them prizes tucked protectively under her twiggy arm. How much money had been spent to win her one o' them things? 20 bucks? Hell, maybe even 30 bucks?

The kid had knocked out soon after they had settled against the ticket booth; head drooped onta her left shoulder, mouth hangin' open ta catch flies. Tuckered herself out from her anxiety of being away from her Ma. What with all the people bustlin' about, shoutin' and actin' stupid because they could, he weren't surprised that she had just crashed out on him as she did. Too much ta handle fer one adventure he supposed.

It had already been a half hour and the girl's Ma had yet to make her way over. What was takin' the damned woman so long? What was even goin' on? How much longer could he afford to be away from his work before he got yelled at again? He huffed in exasperation knowing trouble was gonna be on its way. He hadn't expected it ta take this long to hand off the child to her Ma. He could feel anxious knots beginning to twist and turn over in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like that feelin'. Always made it seem like there was hell to pay and lickin' or two to receive.

Daryl looked up from his pacin' having created a rather obvious pace trail in the dirt hopin' that this would be the last time he would have ta glance up. He stopped in his tracks, quirking his head at the pair of green-gray eyes that met his own pair of blues. Her head bobbed up as she timidly made her way over to him.

The woman ambled up to him, fingers clutchin' tight a flimsy lookin' canvas bag. It looked like she had stolen the bag from some hobo with all its random patch jobs and the two different straps that held it together. Her eyes were tired, her brow furrowed, and she worried her bottom lip unsure of how to formally approach him. He snorted, a slight sneer tuggin' at his lips. Like there could be any formalities to make him feel like some uppity citizen.

Daryl stared at her. He had half been expecting a large rotund woman with arms the size of his head, but instead the woman had been quite opposite. She was a small, petite woman, wrapped in a gray woolen sweater. Her silvery peppered hair looked as if it had been sheared with a pair of dulled scissors just several nights before, shagged out wisps of hair stickin' up here an' there like they didn't know which way ta go.

She pursed her lips before speaking. "I'm Carol Peletier. I believe you're the one who's been watching my girl?" She murmured softly, the fearful undertone in her voice catchin' in her pitch.

Daryl had to lean in a bit to catch all that she had said, but he already knew why she was there. He motioned for her to follow him 'round the front of the booth pointin' to the girl that lay curled up against the wall.

The woman's fearful expression ebbed away and a small thin-lipped smile graced her features. He arched a brow at the woman. He didn't quite understand ithis/i. It was like all her worries had been washed away at takin' that one look at her kid. His Ma had never looked like that when she looked his way. Maybe it was because she didn't wanna see him or that she was too fucked up on her wine to bother with him. Or perhaps it was because he looked just like his Daddy, same steely blue eyes and that spiteful scowl. All he knew was that his Ma never looked so vulnerable as this woman in front of him did in this one moment.

Daryl watched as she moved towards her daughter, delicately pushing a wisp of hair out of the girl's face. The sadness he had seen in the girl's eyes earlier were mirrored back in this woman's eyes and it bothered him the more he observed that they were of the same side coin. All of 'em.

She sucked in a shuddered sob as she grimaced slightly. "Baby, it's time to go. We have to leave. Please get up for me." The woman cooed as she cupped the girl's face in her hands. Sophia stirred from her slumber and her eyes seemed to light up at the sight of her Ma.

"Momma!" The girl cried and she threw her arms 'round her mother's neck. The two fell back into the dirt; the silver-haired woman rockin' back an' forth as she hugged her kid cooin' sweet things inta her ear.

Daryl seemed to not exist to the pair and it bothered him none. He was always bein' ignored in one way or another. He had gotten used ta such treatment. He shrugged his shoulders figurin' this would be the same as all the other times he had done favors for others and started makin' his way back towards the carnival. Back to where he belonged.

"Wait!" A voice cried out from behind him.

Daryl stopped and looked over his shoulder, eyebrow drawn up. The woman rushed towards him, her girl held tight in her arms, legs danglin' like a rag-doll's all limp-like. What did she want now?

"'Scuse me, I didn't get your name." She moved closer towards him.

He took a step back in the direction he had been heading. Daryl snorted at her statement. "Cos I didn't give it." He replied thickly as he stared down the woman.

Her brow furrowed in confusion at his tone and she blinked at him a few times unsure of what she had done to warrant such a response.

Daryl just wanted her to leave him alone. He had wasted enough time waitin' for her to pick up her damned kid. He sure as hell didn't want her takin' up anymore of his time with her forced gratitude. "I'm sorry. You must be busy. I just— just wanted to thank you was all." She mumbled softly ducking her head at him and hurrying off in the opposite direction.

Daryl quietly whirled around stalking closer to the gates, his fingers latching onto the rusted fence links. He watched her retreating form as she moved swiftly towards the parking lot and took off in a busted ol' Cherokee. The car speedin' off, tail lights a strip of red trailin' in the distance. He harrumphed at the car that disappeared into the night and meandered about the front before he kicked a flurry of dirt up and derisively went back to his typical duties.

He shoved his hands into his pockets fishing out his box of matches wanting to finally let loose his nerves. That was when he saw it. He turned to look back at the woman's car but it had already gone outta sight. He approached the plush bunny prize that lay on the ground; its pale white fur stained with dirt. He stooped to his knees, joints poppin' and picked it up, fingers runnin' along the soft faux fur. Daryl's lip curled up as he pushed back to his feet, trying to understand why the woman would spend all that money on a prize toy at a booth and not take it with her.

He turned the thing over in his hands, fingers playin' with the long floppy ears, eyes scannin' over the onyx button eyes and the sewn pink mouth. There weren't any tears in the limbs, nor any real damage done to the thing 'sides the stuffing in the neck havin' been thinned due to the girl's vice grip. Otherwise, the toy was still good. At least this was what he considered to be good. He didn't have no toys like this growin' up, even if it were just a poorly thrown together piece of fabric. His Ma and Pa never had the money to get nice things for him an' Merle. It was either Good-Will or Salvation Army an' both was pushin' it for his Pa to step foot into. He'd never been one to take a handout and steppin' inside a one of them second-hand stores was just as close to a handout as one could get and he didn't like that one bit.

Daryl tucked the thing into his belt unsure of whether he planned on keepin' the plush or just chuckin' it when he found a dump bin. He passed several bins on his way to a run-down attraction, fan belt havin' come loose again. The main operator of the ride was cacklin' up a storm at the silly plush danglin' from his belt, but he didn't care. None of the things they said about him being a 'faggot' or a little 'bitch' got under his skin. Their words held no water in comparison to the merit his Daddy flung at him.

He shut the hood and shoved the operator out of his way, making his way over to another busted ride. It had been a long night and it sure as hell weren't over just yet.

-//--//-

The filtered sun rays danced about his face, blinding him as the curtain fluttered open from the stagnant breeze. Daryl squinted, yawned and then stretched, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, rubbin' the sleep from his eyes. It was already mid-afternoon and the air was hot, a dry heat. He grumbled at the sweat glistenin' off his tanned skin and his bangs plastered to his forehead. Another day at the carnival. Another day under the hood of the same bullshit broken-down machines. Another day as this fuckin' shitty mechanic. He sighed before readying himself for another day's worth of work ahead of him.

He clambered over the crowded hall with its boxes of junk and what-god-knows else trying his best not to ram his arms and hands into the boxes. He'd already received a nasty cut along his arm after he tried gettin' past Jackson's fat-ass earlier that morning after all his tasks had been completed. Ran right into an old bureau, arm catching a shard of wood which dug, splintering into his skin. He'd done what he could, using a knife to whittle the piece of wood shards out of his arm. Weren't like there were any tweezers he could snag and use to get the pieces out. Daryl glanced at the still open and fresh wound. He'd wrapped it with an old shirt he had found, cut it into thin strips and made a generic tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but had been soaked through when he'd gotten up that mornin'.

He found himself wandering in the kitchen. Not findin' much anything to eat 'sides a vast amount of hard liquors littering the counter tops an' tables, he left the confines of the kitchen, figurin' he would be goin' without food once more.

He weren't expectin' nobody that day. 'Specially not her.

He'd caught her seeking him out as he stalked over to his first routine maintenance of the day. She tried hailing him but he ignored her, not thinkin' it was him she was wantin' to talk to in the first place. And why would she? She had no business with him.

"'Scuse me." She cried, takin' longer strides, hobo bag bouncin' 'long side her hip.

Daryl finally stopped and turned to glare at her. He wiped the sweat from his brow huffing that this woman had the nerve to come after him like he owed her somethin'.

"The hell you want?" He barked, eying her up an' down. He noticed the sparkle of her eyes, bright mixed with a glint of fear. Her lips pursed an' she slowed down in her brisk walk towards him.

She hesitated before taking a step closer. He seemed mad, which he was; havin' been interrupted in his work twice in the past 24 hours by this woman and her lost kid weren't somethin' he was fond of.

"I got shit ta do, lady. The hell d'ya want?" He barked again after she failed to respond to him. He didn't have time for this shit. He threw his hands up in frustration before takin' off towards the carousel after he failed to receive a response from the woman. Daryl could hear the soft patter of her footsteps behind him and he whirled on her finding it a large annoyance to him that she followed him like some lost puppy-dog, not a word spoke. "What're you doin'?"

The woman stumbled back surprised at his sudden reaction. She was a jumpy thing. Her mouth hung slightly open. She worried her lip before muttering, "I wanted to thank you... For last night."

Daryl's sneered at her, not buyin' her bullshit excuse. "You already did that. What're you really here fer? It sure as fuck ain't to say no 'thanks'. What d'ya want from me?" He snarled, glaring daggers into her trembling form. He backed off slightly realizing that he was somewhat overreactin' by the way she seemed to flinch at his words. He could feel the other carnival hands eyes on them. Audiences. He didn't like them.

He huffed, cockin' his head at her, hands hooked into his belt loops. "Look either ya tell me or we're done here. I have shit that has ta get done 'fore all them assholes show up fer the nigh'."

The woman massaged the base of her throat before whispering, "Can I talk to you fer a moment? Privately?"

Daryl drew a brow up not understanding why she would ask that. He shrugged his shoulders, wiping his brow again. Them standin' in the heat as they were wasn't doin' nothin' to quell his already burnin' temper.

He absently nodded and guided her to where he was expected to be. He threw open the hood of the engine and began his tinkerin'. Daryl could feel her eyes on him, watchin' his every move like she expected him to stop what he was doin' and provide the utmost attention to her. He huffed annoyed by her presence, quickly duckin' his head out of the hood, slammin' it shut in the process. He hadn't meant ta do that. She jumped back startled by the sudden noise, takin' a step back.

"The hell ya want?" He growled, yanking his grease rag from his pocket. "Seems ta me like I owe ya somethin' when I don't even know you."

The woman shook her head. "No not at all." Her lips pursed again and she looked away from him. That was when he caught sight of it. The caked on makeup beneath her eye. He'd been so pissed that he hadn't noticed the amount of foundation shit that women used to hide blemishes. There were still swirls of purple and blues peeking through her hasty patch job. His brow furrowed and he felt himself pull down his anger.

Daryl diverted his eyes away from her not wantin' to be caught starin' at her. She was just as pathetic as himself, but he just wasn't sure who was more pathetic: her or himself.

"What do you want from me, lady?" He drawled, the edge in his tone less aggravated than before.

Her eyes met his in the first time they had came in contact with one another since earlier that night. He'd lie if he said he'd never seen eyes like hers. Truth was he saw hers in his own all the time. She quirked her mouth before speakin'.

"Carol. I'm Carol." She replied, looking back to her feet. "I don't want anythin' from you— I'm sorry. I never did catch your name."

Daryl sighed, not wantin' to create a tie with her by givin' his name. That was all it took and then you were stuck with people ya never wanted to be known by in the first place. "Daryl Dixon." He grudgingly offered up, a scowl settling his lips, his eyes focused on her.

He noticed the way her throat bobbed like she was nervous 'bout talkin' with him.

"Mr. Dixon—" She was cut off. He held up a hand stoppin' her firmly in place. He couldn't stand bein' called 'Mr. Dixon'. It sounded too much like he was his Pa and he wanted no ties to that sonuvabitch. "That's my Pa. Don't care fer formalities. Just 'Daryl'." He said as he tucked the grease rag back into his pocket, havin' tried riddin' his hands of the grease and grime still stuck defiantly under his nails.

Carol bobbed her head at him, takin' heed of his tone. He may not have outright snapped at her but she caught on well enough that Daryl didn't care about no titles. Shit like that never belonged to him and they wouldn't no matter whose mouth it came out of. It could be the goddamned president awardin' him some fuckin' medal and he'd still feel like a nobody.

"Daryl." She let his name sit on her tongue as the corner of her mouth tugged slightly up. The way his name rolled of her tongue seemed okay. He wasn't used ta people callin' him by his name 'sides Merle who could never pronounce it right. Dumb bastard lived with him for near two decades and could neither figure out the correct pronunciation.

"Oh!" She chimed, breakin' his train a thought. She was suddenly realizin' somethin' he had no idea of. It may have been her reasonin' fer showin' up in the first place. Daryl couldn't be sure. He raised an arched brow not quite figurin' out what she was doin' rummagin' in that damned hobo bag of hers. Fuckin' thing musta been like 80 years old with the way it was tattered and frayed. He was surprised the thing was even useful or had even lasted as long as it did.

She finally brought out a small paper bag that looked like it had been hastily shoved to the bottom a her bag. It looked rather heavy the way she held it with both hands offerin' it out to him like it were his. Daryl shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands on his hips unsure if he should take it. "Made this for you." She stammered, offerin' it up once more, a slight crease in her brow as if she were preparin' for the worse.

Daryl hesitantly took a step forward and took the package in both hands. He hugged it to his chest tryin' ta get a better grasp on it. He cradled the bag in his arms opening it up to a wafting smell of freshly baked cornbread. The smell hit him like a truck fillin' his nostrils 'till all he breathed and tasted was the sweet honeyed glaze causin' him to lick his lips like some starved idiot. The corners of her mouth tugged into a smile at his reaction, her eyes seemin' to light up like she had done alright.

He felt the flush of heat creepin' into his ears, stainin' his cheeks like a damned fool. Daryl embarrassed by his achin' belly shut the bag and glared at her.

"The fuck is this fer? I ain't no charity case, lady. What're you tryin' ta hide?" He fumed settin' the bag rather harshly on the top of the engine hood. He didn't care that he may have broken the pieces of bread up or that she had taken special care to come all this way to bring him somethin' like this. Honest truth, Daryl never had no woman bake him anythin' like that before and it somewhat softened his temper. His problem with the mousy thing before him was that he had allowed this woman to chisel down his walls in one single gesture and he weren't havin' none o' that today. He'd already bent over backwards waitin' on her hand an' foot to grab her girl and now wastin' his time dilly dallyin' with some familial bullshit he wanted no part of.

Carol's smile faltered. "I wanted to ask that you not say anything about finding my daughter or meeting me here." She mumbled in between playin' with the hem of her sweater. Hell the damned thing was just as ratted as her bag from the looks of it. Had she never seen the inside a one a them fancy department stores? He'd never be caught dead in a place like that with its shiny floors and perky sales clerks bombardin' him with fruity colognes and cheeky sales tactics. He was terrified of shit like that with their fake smiles and overly happy voices. It was disgustin' the way they whored themselves out to the general public fer that extra dollar a week.

A small hand waved in front of his face, shakin' him from his thoughts and he shuffled back from Carol havin' not seen that she'd moved in close ta him tryin' to grab his attention. "Sorry! You weren't sayin' anything. Didn't mean to scare you." She apologized. He noticed the hint of worry in her tone and shrugged like it were nothin'.

"Don't say anythin'. Right. You don't want that husband a yer's findin' out, right?"

The color in her skin drained and she looked like she was on the brink of havin' a panic attack. "How'd you know?" A hand flew to her mouth tryin' a hold in her gasp. She acted like he didn't notice the horribly applied makeup or the way she carried herself, shoulders drawn down like the world was out ta punish her fer existin'.

Daryl snorted at her statement, lip curlin' up. "You act like I'ma hitcha if I look at ya funny or tellin' me not to say shit. Only time I ever heard shit like that is when ya want someone not knowin' somethin'." He shrugged at her like it was no big secret ta him. The wispy-haired woman looked ta be on the verge a tears the way she seemed to cower at the stark realization of what she had done. He hated when they cried. He never knew what was wrong with 'em or how to calm 'em down. Bizarre creatures women were and he had no clue how to deal with 'em. A mystery to him they were.

There was only one way he would be able to keep the woman from cryin' and he knew he would kick himself fer it. Trouble seemed to know where to perch itself each chance it got. And it sure as hell knew the name Daryl Dixon.

"Fine. I won't tell nobody." He grumbled through a scowl, rollin' his eyes all the more that shit was never easy fer him. Even when it should be, it weren't. Always had ta be some kinda catch.

He glowered at the woman as she seemed to perk up slightly. There was a plea of thanks and hope in those misty eyes that had seen a lot more shit than Daryl could figure. What was one more rung of problems fer him on the ladder he had already climbed?

Carol bit her lip before thankin' him one last time, holdin' out her hand as a sort of peace offerin'. Daryl eyed her slim hand with the gaudy silver band on her ring-finger. It was a mockery of the marital vows she and her piece a shit husband had pledged, but who the fuck was he ta judge? He'd never bedded down with a woman, more or less held one a their hands. Weren't like he was one a them bachelors that had all the ladies clamberin' to get into his pants.

He sighed before quickly shakin' her hand and lettin' it go. Carol softly smiled at him before walkin' up ta him, touchin' a gentle hand to his shoulder. He recoiled from her grasp, watchin' as her thin-lipped grimace never faltered. He could tell that he had hurt her by his reaction. It was her eyes that gave her away. The slight flinch at the corner of her eye as if he had already struck her with some invisible force. He didn't like bein' touched. It was as simple as that. It was her reaction that made him feel bad. He weren't no woman beater. Even if this mousy woman did annoy him, he'd never thought to strike her fer anythin' of the sort. It wasn't his nature, nor would it ever.

"Thank you, Daryl." Without a skip of a beat she was gone.

Daryl didn't stop watchin' her as she left. The way her slouched shoulders still pulled her down by the weight a her worries and shitty life she had ta endure, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. His hands slipped into his pockets, pulling the half-empty packet of cigarettes out. He removed two, tuckin' one above his ear and the other placing between his lips. He lit his cigarette and took a drag, lettin' out the smoke through a half sigh.

What the fuck had he just gotten himself inta?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please leave a review! Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! No excuses! I will be attempting to post more regularly. I've had lots of RL stuff on my plate. But no more! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for waiting!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

The crumpled bag was opened on the table amongst the litter of bottles an' trash, but it sat there neatly all the same like it didn't belong. An eyesore really. Daryl leaned his back against the counter starin' at the bag as he carefully pulled a small chunk of cornbread the woman, Carol, had made for him the day before. He'd stuffed it away in the ratty trunk at the foot of his too-small bed, knowin' well that he'd do well to hide it from wanderin' hands.

It weren't like things were shared communally amongst the carnies. Nope. Everything was an all out take what ya can without a second thought type of nonsensical bullshit trope. It might have been bought with the money you'd earned but it didn't belong to you. By any stretch of the word, not a damn sense of the word.

Daryl had learned the hard way the lay of the land in his new 'family' as it were. Nothin' was yours: women, booze, smokes, or the like. Taken at any time, as if there was much to be claimed anyhow. He'd left home with nothin' but the clothes on his back and a gunny-sack containing a few of his tools and a few bits of deer jerky he had hunted a week ago. The tools— they weren't his neither.

Pawned. Gone.

Weren't much that could be done. He didn't belong. He may have looked the part with his scruffy appearance and mean as a dog snarl, but he weren't loud and callous like the rest of 'em. Daryl quietly stuck to himself. Didn't need nobody. He clearly hadn't needed her, but she'd came to him all the same bearin' a courtesy to buy his silence. The fuck were he goin' to talk to anyway? Not like the rest of 'em liked 'im anyhow. Jackson didn't treat 'em all the same. Daryl was 'special', as all-encompassing as the word got. He still got kicked around like a sack a shit, but was often given the blind-eye to do as he pleased half the time.

He'd never understand why. He frankly didn't give a shit. Just as long as the rest of 'em left him be, he was fine with that. He weren't one for company and kept it as such. That was until she came along.

Daryl continued starin' at the bag with it's prim corners still intact where she probably took a good amount of her time figurin' how to fold the damned thing. Make it out like it were some important bag that was the end all be all. There was still a large half of loaf left inside and he weren't sure whether he should scarf it down or save it like he had been. Despite it having sat inside his trunk the past day or two, it still retained its freshness. Didn't go stale none neither. This here was real home-made cornbread like his Gran used ta make.

The thought stirred a bit in him. Made him miss his Georgia woods and his run-down home at the end of the road with its overgrown dead lawn and the rusted beat-up trucks on the side of the house still in the process of bein' restored. Their parts strewn about the ground waitin' to be put back where they belonged. It was the token red-neck piece a shit hovel. The bastard house at the end of the row.

All the neighborhood kids picked on 'im like any of it were his fault his house looked the way it were or the way his Ma and Pa would scream and throw shit at each other on their front porch at all hours of the day. In spite of it all, he missed that fuckin' house and all its shitty memories. At least it was some place to call 'home'.

Daryl hesitantly reached out to the bag not sure if it would snap at his hand for wantin' more of the soft bread that waited for him— that had been made specially for him. The thought tickled his brain some. Confused him really. Why a woman would even bother with his useless ass to make somethin' like that fer him, it was without a doubt a baffling thought. Before he could grasp the bag to take it back, Tommy came meanderin' by with his busted nose and thinning hair snatchin' the bag up without a second thought.

"Give it 'ere." Daryl barked stepping away from the counter, chest puffed, his stance tall, chin tipped up slightly. He weren't in no mood to be dealin' with this Mickey-Mouse bullshit. Not today. He already had a long day ahead of 'im and playin' keep away was not top priority on that list.

Tommy smirked at Daryl's reaction tuckin' the bag down into his baggy pants, cocking his head as if to dare him to try. "Well, don't be a pussy, Darylina. You want it? Go ahead an' take it." He chided through a tooth-rotted grin.

Daryl's lip curled and he huffed. He quickly deflated and went back to the counter, shoulders dipped low, arms folded across his chest. His steel blue eyes narrowed into a hard glare at the sickly lookin' man.

"Yeah an' you'd like if I did it too, you sick fuck." Daryl skulked dipping his head at the wasted carnie, lip curlin' up into a snarl.

He could swear he never saw Tommy eat a damn thing and he saw most shit that went on about the tents. They all thought he kept to himself and just went about his business, but he was highly observant. The man was as thin as a rail with lean stringy muscle showin' through paper-thin skin. Frankly, it was disgustin' to say the least and it made no sense how the man was still standin' with such low body fat.

He knew he himself had lost weight livin' and travelin' with the carnival troop. Food was slim pickin's and some days none at all. He'd noticed that overall he was less soft in the middle and gained lean muscular mass in his arms and chest havin' ta drag heavy crates around, liftin' shit, but mostly malnourishment. He wondered if he'd ever get to that point where he was as crazed as an animal wanderin' the grounds a shell of his former self stuck in this fuckin' hell hole the rest of his days like Tommy did. That's all the man's life was now: this carnival band. It was sickenin' to say the least.

Daryl sneered at Tommy before pushin' off the counter, eyes trained on him as he moved past him. Leavin' him be. Ain't like he were worth the time to be triflin' with dumbasses anyhow. He'd have enough of 'em to deal with since he'd somehow got stuck trekkin' the local high school auto-mechanics class through the grounds, showin' 'em what he did and the like. He hated kids let alone ones that had sass in their mouths like the drop in their balls made 'em men. Made 'em less inclined to think he knew shit about what he were talkin' about because of his affiliations.

Redneck trash. He could hear his Daddy's words in his ears. He'd never cared much for stereotypes but when these words were spat at him by his own flesh and blood the words bit and made him wish he could crawl into the deepest hole underground and never come out. His Daddy was full of harsh stereotypes. Hateful colorful words he was embarrassed enough to never repeat.

The mechanic sighed through his nose, pawing the ground with his feet. He wanted ta get this thing over an' done with so he could rest up for the evening festivities.

He hurriedly scratched at the scruff on his chin wonderin' where it was this high school class was comin' from so he weren't late. Daryl was always punctual if possible. There was never any excuse why a person should be late when they knew ahead of time where they were supposed ta be. It was only common courtesy from what he saw of it. He shrugged his shoulders removing the cigarette tucked above his ear. He lit it up and took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs for a moment before exhaling a steady steam from out his nose. He took a step forward towards the south gate but then stopped thinking better of it. Maybe he should just wait like he planned to.

The mechanic knocked the ashes off the tip of his cigarette before taking another inhale, holdin' the smoke for a brief second. He heard a scoff as if it were any o' their business he was smokin' then a scolding tone that immediately followed after. "Mr. Dixon, am I right?"

Daryl swiveled behind him so fast one could have sworn he had just been slapped. His eyes widened slightly chokin' on the smoke in his lungs. He thumped a fist against his chest tryin' ta get back his breath. He found the woman with the delicious corn bread from the other day standin' in front of him, brow slightly furrowed. Her bruising had all but gone 'side the light purple that she used to cover it with an eyeshadow that made her blue eyes stand out more vividly than when he first caught a glimpse of her the day before.

"That class is the reason you shouldn't smoke." She replied tightly tryin' her best ta not smile at the incredulous look on his face. "This is Mr. Dixon. He will be our guide for the afternoon."

Daryl glared at her as he pinched the end off the cigarette, tuckin' the remaining half 'bove his ear. He snorted at her formalities hatin' the way the sarcasm seemed to drip off her words. "Just Daryl. Mr. Dixon is my Pa. Or Dixon. Honestly, I don't give a f—" he stopped mid-sentence when he caught her own piercing glare aimed at him— darin' him ta finish his sentence. He'd seen that look all too often from his Ma when she were sober 'nough to scold him or Merle fer causin' a racket while she watched her soaps. He huffed realizin' he had a large group of kids watchin' their exchange. "Just Dixon." He grumbled stickin' his hands into his jumper pockets, kickin' up a bit of loose dirt. Who tha hell did she think she was makin' a mockery of him like that? Like she were any fuckin' saint with her shitty husband always beatin' up on 'er like he did. He shook as head in frustration knowin' he would have ta behave.

He cocked his head back up at her takin' in her appearance. Her cropped hair was wispier than normal with loose locks curlin' up at her ears and a light scarf wound 'bout her neck. The mechanic could only assume it were to hide any other marks her husband had left on her in the previous days since he had last seen her. He then noticed the garish bangles at her wrist and the creep of blue hidden by the chunky bracelets. This woman. He thought tryin' ta figure her out. She still smiled despite how shitty her life was. How was she still fakin' like everythin' was okay? Daryl turned slightly to glance back at the class of students waitin' awkwardly or talkin' loudly with another classmate.

He huffed turnin' to examine the crop that she had ta offer him. They all seemed ta have the same stupid look on their faces like they weren't sure why they were there in the first place. He wrinkled his nose, finding his hands settlin' at his hips. "Y'all are wantin' to be mechanics or what kinda class is this again?" He replied directin' his question to the woman. Weren't this class a mechanics course? Carol. Had that been her name, too? He couldn't remember, but he was sure that was what she had said. He'd tried ta ferget she had even made a deal with him. He wouldn't talk and she would just leave 'im be, but somehow he found that this weren't goin' ta be true. She was one of them women that couldn't be shook off no matter the distance. He found that a bit unsettling as he directed his gaze back to her.

The mechanic saw the way she swallowed to clear her throat, clappin' her hands to gain the attention of the class. They seemed ta stir but only a bit. He caught sight of a few with their phones out. Their attention stuck on the damned screen as the woman beside him began ta speak. He felt the urge to snatch the phones up and smash 'em on the ground so they were givin' the woman their undivided attention, but knew that weren't the best thing ta do. He shifted uncomfortably in place, crossing his arms at his chest watchin' her guide the class.

"Okay! Today class we are just going to learn a little bit of the maintenance that goes into keeping such machines going and perhaps if we have time, maybe we can all have a go on one of the rides." She announced her timid voice echoing loud with confidence toward the students. It seemed her talkin' got them to stop their fidgetin' and give her the attention she desired. He furrowed his brow not understandin' how she managed to command such a presence with 'em when they seemed to have naught a bone of respect in 'em. Daryl shrugged rubbing the back of his neck as she gestured towards him to begin the tour.

"Guess just follow me. Ah—" he paused not sure where he should be startin' when there was so much ta do in any given day. He reckoned the first place ta start would be with his normal routine of tunin' up the Ferris wheel. He motioned for the lot to follow him as he took long purposeful strides towards the attraction.

He heard her steady foot falls beside him and made him a little uneasy by how closely she followed behind him. He thought he heard her meek voice softly as she caught up with him. Daryl turned his head to get a look at her. "Didn't think you would actually go through with this." She said timidly her gaze fallin' ta the end of her scarf as her fingers fidgeted with a loose thread.

There it was. That small, fearful woman he had met days before. She was amusin' the way she let her guard down with 'im but also disconcertin'. It made no sense why she'd be so at ease to throw down her walls fer him. "Weren't like I had no choice. Just was told I had a class ta teach and that was that." He replied dryly not wantin' ta talk ta her. As far as he knew, he owed her no favors. He did as she had asked of him and that was the extent fer his deal with her. Could it be that she assumed he'd talked? Were those bruises from someone havin' seen her and her kid that night? Someone havin' told her shitty husband and she assumin' it had been him? The thought irked him and he felt his lip curl up slightly in agitation. The fuck was he doin' carin' 'bout what she thought anyway?

He led the class 'round the back of the platform the Ferris wheel sat on and he pointed at the chipped and weathered blue box the engine trembled inside. He thumped it lightly with the flat of his hand as he waited fer the stragglers ta make their way toward him. He unhooked his keys from his hip and undid the lock pocketing both items. He threw open the hood of the engine as he listened to its hum.

Today she was havin' a good day. 'Least from what it sounded like now. She could easily throw a tantrum and send his whole night inta calamity. He hoped that weren't gonna be the case.

"This is the Ferris wheel. Probably the most used attraction we have here. I'm the lead technician fer it and so it's my job ta make sure it's up an' runnin' each night." He drawled not certain what it was he should be talkin' bout to them. He still had no clue what kinda class it was she taught either. She hadn't said a word since she had spoken up after her schpeal to the kids 'bout their day.

Daryl looked to the woman for guidance but found she only nodded her head ta get him to continue. He shrugged a bit shakin' his head not sure what more he could say. He didn't know what most things did inside the engine just that he seemed ta know how ta make the damned thing sing when he wanted it to. Never really learned since there weren't no manual for the fuckin' thing. Jackson just shoved him toward it and said, "This better be fixed 'fore I get back or yer ass is gon' be sorry ya asked fer a job from me, ya Dixon bastard."

Somehow he had managed to figure out what did what by trial an' error as it were. Seemed that every 'know-how' had given up tryin' ta fix it. Everyone 'cept fer him. Daryl had never been a quitter. Even when he knew he was a licked dog he always managed to stand right back up and take 'nother hit or two before acceptin' defeat. Despite how his Daddy had whipped him good growin' up, he knew that Dixons weren't no quitters. Knee-high that shit was pounded inta him as if it made him more mean like his Daddy had wanted him ta be, but he knew he was different. Tried as his Daddy might, he weren't like his brother Merle.

Daryl had always been the disappointment, but Merle did what he could tryin' ta protect him 'till he couldn't take no more from their Daddy. Last he had ever seen of Merle had been near decade ago when he had gone ta join the Marines. Never did see him after that 'till he heard word Merle had been discharged fer punchin' out a Sergeant likely runnin' his mouth not knowin' who he was dealin' with. The idea made a lopsided grin creep onta Daryl's lips but made him think better of havin' the stupid thing too plastered on his face. He shook his head realizin' he was still standin' front an' center 'fore a buncha dumb high school kids. He sighed heavily rememberin' what it was he was supposed ta be doin'.

He did his best explainin' what it was he did in the mornin' with his daily tune ups and tests to make sure everythin' ran smooth later for the guests to come ride to their hearts content. He snorted at how easily people defaced what weren't theirs. He'd find names carved into the guard bar and the cushions of the seat shredded from likely knives or somethin' else that was sharp that them asshole kids brought with them thinkin' they were tough shit or some dumb bullshit like that.

With nimble fingers Daryl did his normal routine, he mumbled a few words here an' here as he did his check ups, which turned out that it was runnin' just fine— 'least for now it did. He frowned knowin' he would be back later that night dealin' with fixin' somethin' that went wrong with it. He returned his gaze back ta the group of students that just stood there bored outta their minds. What had he expected? He'd likely see half the crop of kids workin' stints at a backbreaking pace at some hole in the wall fast food chain. He figured the woman beside him had caught sight of his reaction and clapped her hands again grabbin' their attention like they were dogs. He chuckled a bit at this duckin' his head as he looked to his work boots a bit awkwardly.

"Well, I suppose that's all for the tour. We'll be leaving in the next hour so if you guys want it's free time to do as you will. If you want to return to the bus, the door is open." She echoed, a smile on her lips. Daryl had caught the flicker of pain in the smile; subtle but there— seen it all too often with his own Ma when she'd visit family and such.

There were too many parallels between her an' his family. It was hard to not feel a bit of sympathy for her. She carried herself better 'an he had most days. He wondered for how long she had to deal with the abuse. How long had she have ta try an' stand tall like she was now? He caught himself starin' at her as she returned his gaze. Daryl looked away rubbin' the back of his neck sheepishly scowlin' at the fact that he had been caught lookin' at her as he did. She probably thought he was some dumb hick with no common decency 'bout him with the way he had been lookin' at her. He snorted at the thought knowin' that it weren't the case at all.

"Thank you," she whispered so softly he wasn't sure he had properly heard her in the first place.

He cocked his head at her, not understandin' what it was she was thankin' him for. "What?" He asked fingers hookin' at the loops of his belt, hip dipped slightly as he adjusted to question her statement. He'd hardly been thanked for anythin' most his life and here she was tellin' him she was grateful but fer what he'd no idea.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt findin' her scarf less interestin' he assumed. "Thank you for not saying anything. I heard— this carnival wouldn't be gone for a while so I wanted to come by with my kids to say thank you maybe get them inspired—" Daryl cut her off, puttin' up his hand to get her to stop her ramblin'.

"This ain't no picnic and it ain't all smiles and fuckin' sunshine neither," he hissed givin' her a look that said she had just wasted her time. "You want these kids workin' like some indentured servant? Shit they be best workin' at some shitty fast-food chain with minimum wage pay." He huffed pacin' a bit like a caged animal eying her as he did a little irritated by her gall of such a thing. She might have meant well, but workin' here was one of the lowest of the lows in his opinion. It hadn't been the best idea he had ever had and the last mistake he would ever make with a job once he had repaid the debt he set out to do. That was for damn sure.

He saw the way she flinched at his words like he had slapped her again. He huffed knowin' that she couldn't help it. Just her nature as were his own. Not like they could change who they was in just a night, but he sure as hell knew he weren't no woman beater. Daryl wrinkled his nose at her in disgust. Was that how she saw him? An abuser? A man that would strike a woman— just ain't him despite his snarlin' nature.

"Why're you followin' me? You don't know me. I don't owe you shit now." He paused a moment in his rant to take a step closer to her. He saw the way she seemed to tremble, shrink away from his movements like he were sizin' up how he wanted to beat her face inta the ground. He felt the anger flare up in 'im at how judgmental he thought her ta be with them judgin' eyes that stared at him as they did. "Kept yer word. Bought my silence with food. The fuck you think I am, huh lady?" He sneered out of the corner of his mouth, eyes looking past her as he took a step back from her. He wouldn't give her nor anyone else that satisfaction. Eye contact. It weren't like anyone gave it to him anyhow. Why should he give it to this woman? He stopped his pacin' not sure what to expect or whether he should expect an answer of some sort from her. Fragile as she was, he knew she'd say somethin'.

The woman flinched again at his sharp words, head snappin' against her collarbone, shoulder drawn up high to shield herself from impendin' blows. He snorted, feelin' his brows drawin' down at the thought. Her eyes shut tight, eyes crinkling at the corner from past worries. She seemed to shrink at his words almost every step of their conversation. She cracked an eye open, settin' her sights on him. Daryl took a step back seein' the way she seemed to bore inta him like he weren't really there. He hated that look. It was like there was no life in 'er. Everythin' just gone.

His breath caught in his throat and he froze when she drew up from her curled in position. She took a step towards him, worryin' her lip like even she weren't sure that what she was doin' was the right call. Daryl stood all the same, dumbstruck by her audacity. She hesitantly reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. He flinched at her touch recoilin' his shoulder a bit from her. "A good man." She replied before droppin' her hand back to her side, fingers claspin' tightly over her hobo bag. She ducked her head at him, avertin' her eyes from meetin' his and walked away without another word spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: **Thank you for reading! Please review! I do look forward to your guys' thoughts!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very, very late update. I've had other things on my plate as of late. New ideas brewing and such. I hope that I can get back into rhythm of this fic. If you enjoy it, let me know. As always thank you for all the patience and continued support. I'd been sitting on this chapter for a while and finally had the sense to start it up again. Well, hope you all enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

He kicked over the trunk in his too small room out of anger not caring that he had hurt himself in the process. Stubbed his toe and scuffed the skin right off the top of his knuckles in a huffy rage. His guts were twisting in ways they shouldn't have been. He didn't like it. He didn't care that he would later regret his decision to punch the hole in the wall neither. It was the size of his fist and imbedded deep into the old plaster of the dingy wall, splinters littering the floor. Daryl paced the 4-foot width of his room like a caged-animal, head dropped, eyes set on the ground mulling over the encounter he had just had. Words rattling inside his brain like a pair of thin nails trying to claw their way out somehow.

Who the hell she think she was touching him like she knew him? She didn't know anything about him. He sure as hell knew what kinda woman she was just by her nature: frail little woman, world sitting atop her shoulders as the world and all it's shittiness beat down on her like she owed it something.

_A good man?_ How could she fucking figure that by only a handful of meets? He'd only been mean to her. Cruel even. What was it she was seeing in him that he didn't?

He huffed in annoyance that her words were digging into his skin like they was. These claws that hooked deep in his bones that he couldn't just let loose. If it weren't enough that she had touched him, it was her words that made him question himself. He had never had anyone tell him that he was any better than the dirt on their boot or the spit in their eye. Yet, here this woman had said that he was _good man._

_A good man._ The fuck did she know about good men? Dixon men weren't anything but redneck trash. Hell, her piece of shit husband weren't no good a man neither. What had he done to show her that he was any good? Daryl knew he had only been nasty to her, vicious almost at times with how he'd glare at her, talking from the side of his mouth, and giving no direct eye contact to her. Despite the shittiness of her life, she still kept herself upright even if her shoulders drooped low from the burdens that carried her everywhere, eyes attentive and fixed on the other pair of eyes staring right back at her as she spoke meek-like to them.

He tilted his head up towards the tiny dirt stained window of the room, fragments of sunlight drizzled in pelting him in the face, birds chirping from their perches on the trees in the neighboring forest. He sneered at the noise knowing with all the racket he would have a hell of a time trying to sleep now. Be lucky at all if he even managed a few hours. He'd come back to his room to nap before all the festivities were underway. He'd tuned up the ferris wheel and the menagerie of other attractions he typically oversaw in the morning. All of 'em singing with no hiccups in their pitches. He figured it would be an easy enough night that he could find a quiet place to smoke and wait 'till something broke down and he was called ta go fix it. A slow night. An uneventful night.

Of course, nothing went as planned for him. He weren't ever that lucky to catch a break. She had to go and tell him that he were better than he thought he was or knew he could be. The thought was perturbing with its meaning. It wasn't just some blurt for shock. The thing that bothered him so much about it wasn't just her tone or the way she'd reached out ta him.

She meant it. There had been conviction in her eyes. Her voice had been nothing more than a barren whisper but it had been that touch and look she gave that spoke what she thought. This battered woman believed he was worth more than dirt. That he was of value to her or to anyone that cared for the matter. If he were a betting man, he'd be right.

He ran calloused marred fingers through his shaggy hair, hands resting at his temples as he paced the length of the room stepping over the kicked over trunk. Her words lingered too much like he cared that they mattered to him. But why? He'd never cared what nobody had thought of him. Not 'til now. Why did he feel now that this woman's word made all the difference of what kinda man he actually was?

His stomach roiled, palms sweating at the thought that perhaps he wanted something better for himself, that maybe wanting more wasn't something to look down on. He shook his head glancing down at the jagged red lines running the length of his knuckles to the flat of the back of his hand. Flexing his fingers he deducted no bones were broke so that was good enough for him to not get it checked out. Daryl huffed not liking that her words— Carol's words —mattered somehow to him. He kicked the trunk again and moved to lay in his too small bed. He kicked his boots off his feet, curling on his side, face trained on the wall, shutting his eyes to try and get a power nap in before he had to go back to work.

\--//--//--

The night went smooth, well as smooth as smooth went for Daryl. He'd sliced his hand open with a box-cutter when he'd been tasked with replacing a part in The Zipper ride. Tape being as thick as it were, caught the blade causing his hands to fumble and run along the sharp of the razor blade. Fucking thing hurt like a bitch, but it weren't like there was any kinda doctor on hand to take a look and make sure no infection would mark its way into the now open wound.

Just another menagerie of scars to add to his already growing repertoire. He growled low in his throat as he went back to his too small room blood dripping down his arm as he tried keeping as much pressure as he could. He kicked open his door looking around fer the old shredded shirt he had used days before on the cut he'd gotten on his arm. The skin there was a harsh pink from inflammation. He knew it hadn't healed at all properly. It still stung to brush the sleeve of his shirt along it.

But right now he needed to get this bleeding stopped. Blood was splattered all about the room like some crime scene he'd seen in a movie once. Only glimpsed it before. Never owned a television himself just happened by one of them old store fronts that sold them box televisions for dirt cheap. Had to have been some old trailer back from when he was a kid with how the effects were, but again it weren't anything that mattered much to him.

He found the old shirt wadded up beneath the trunk he'd kicked over earlier that afternoon. Hastily he wrapped it about his hand, tying it off as tight as he could muster with the pain being what it was. He growled low wincing at the pressure he was applying not liking that he was figuring out the cut he had was pretty deep in the flesh of his palm. This weren't going to make his work any easier now that he was injured. His hands were his life. Couldn't do much without 'em and here he was without much use of his right hand.

This definitely weren't turning out to be a good night at all for him.

The crackle of his walkie at his hip buzzed and a garbled sound came from out of it, but nothing of Daryl's concern. He sighed through his nostrils irritated at the pain in his hand, which had now become the thorn of his side for the time being. With not much else he could do for himself, Daryl set out back to his place at the edge of the carnival where he found the most respite from all the garish lights and dying fades of laughter that filled his ears. He would sit and he would smoke and he would sit some more twiddling his thumbs 'til he was called upon. Just like he had planned earlier that afternoon.

He stalked through the grass, feeling his pant legs dampen from the dew beads caught on the longer fox-tail weeds sticking up. Part of him felt like he was a kid again, running through them with Merle chasing after him. Entire time cursing him over something he did. Threatening to do worse when he was caught. It never was worse. Always something less than as he knew Merle hadn't the stomach to flat out beat him senseless unless he really had done something stupid. It had been a one time thing and nothing more that he'd ever been on that end with his brother.

Pushing the memory to the back of his mind, Daryl hurried forward, bright lights and roar of the crowd welcoming him as he drew close. He hated this part the most. Especially with how many people there seemed to be this night. Much more than there had been nights before. Reckoned it had much to do with it being a weekend night. Sighing through his nostrils, he figured he better bullhead this before it got too raucous for him to deal with anyone getting in his way.

He brushed past all the fair-goers dipping low and hobbling round the strollers that came whizzing outta nowhere. The deafening ring of their laughter and yelling wracked his nerves. It all was just way too loud fer his liking and he wanted to forget the noise as quickly as possible. As he made his way through the mass of people, he tucked his wounded arm close to his body, careful not to brush along anyone or anything. From the sharp slip of pain in his hand to the dull thrum of his arm, he was having an outstanding night.

So far… so good. His walkie hadn't crackled yet and nothing seemed broke. Taking this as his cue to skidaddle out of the line of fire from any of the carnival hands that disliked the ease of his job, Daryl stalked through the menagerie of tents, creeping by as quietly as he'd come. Most folk never bothered him, but certain nights he was barraged with a multitude of questions he hadn't the faintest clue to answering. Those were nights he wished he didn't have this debt to pay back. Same nights he wished he weren't blood to Merle. Same fucking nights he wished he had the moxie to just say no and do his own thing.

Yeah, those were some nights.

Finally making it to the outskirts of the carnival grounds Daryl gingerly climbed the rail as he had previous nights and struck his match against the flimsy matchbook, lighting that cigarette he always had tucked just above his ear. Before taking his first drag, he eyed the thing a moment wondering why it was he smoked these things. They did nothing for him. Forced him to spend money he didn't want to spend because of it being habit. Figured he should have been scared shitless of them with the way his Momma had gone out.

Died in a drunken haze all 'cause she was too damned stupid to not fucking smoke in bed. And his Daddy had told her numerous times. Like a damned broke record day in and day out. It had surprised him a little that he even vaguely remembered that warning his Daddy gave her. Reckoned with all them beatings she got that there hadn't been a kind fiber in the man's body. Apparently it had been so's he had something to take his frustrations out on. Soon as she was dead and buried, his Daddy focused most heavily on Merle— the finality winding its way back to himself once Merle'd had enough that the man could dish.

Scoffing at the old memory that had slipped back into his mind, Daryl took the cigarette between his lips taking a long steady drag, letting his head fall back, exhaling the stream of smoke above his head. Watching as the tendrils wafted and lingered about like a milky haze, he blew air into the cloud. The smoke burst in waves, rippling out and away from overhead.

There was a whimper and a shuffle that had him almost falling back from where he had been leaning a little too far for his comfort on the rail. Steadying his weight to balance right proper, Daryl keened his head in the direction that he'd heard the sudden noise. No one was supposed to come this far out. Mostly there were booths for the carnival hands and a few first-aids for the rowdy fair-goer. Otherwise most civilians weren't meant to come out here.

Hopping down from his perch, Daryl tore the still lit end off, flicking it out into the dewy weeds. If somehow it lit up the field, well, that weren't his problem. He crept low as he cautiously peeked around tent corners searchin' out the source of the noise. There was a gruff voice, bitter in tone. It rivaled that of Merle's bark from what he could tell, but the one thing that had him hesitating was the edge that reminded him too much of his own Daddy's.

It was the piqued curiosity of finding whom the voice belonged to that kept him hunting for the man, but then he'd caught that soft whimper. Immediately he froze when the cry got louder and the barking just the same. Daryl didn't have to visually see what has happening to know what already was going to happen. Coming to round a booth, he ducked back catching the back of a large man and a small mousey-thing of a woman standing haphazardly close together. The area they stood in was thick with tension, could almost feel it on his skin as he shrunk back into the shadows ensuring that he wasn't going to be seen.

Daryl was sure if the man caught him, there'd be hell to pay. So he kept his mouth shut and quietly stood onlooker to the dispute.

"The fuck were you doin'? Talkin' ta him? Huh? You stupid bitch. I bet yer fuckin' him, too, ain't ya?" The man hissed, his fist tight around the woman's upper arm jerkin' her about as he spoke.

Her face was somewhat visible, but still somewhat hard to catch as the moonlight cast a harsh shadow down her features. That wrinkle in her brow was the most constant thing and the quiver of her lip as she spoke. "What was I supposed to do? Ignore him? He's father to one of my students." She whimpered ducking her head down. He knew that reaction better than most. Bracing herself for the inevitable slap that would come whipping about her face. Absently, his own right hand came ghosting across his stubbled cheek, crack of his Daddy's paw in the spot he best liked to strike him.

There was a pause where Daryl heard nothing besides his own shallow breathing and the trembling hitch in the woman's sobs. "Yer fuckin' lyin'." He growled taking a step in to her space.

Despite the size of the man, he was rather fast. Daryl had turned around briefly at the sound of a cricket chittering behind him letting out the breath he'd been holding when the man shifted. He caught the man gripping his meaty fingers tight around the woman's wrist yanking her to follow him. She whimpered in pain, a heavy crease in her brow, lip trembling. The man pulled hard on her wrist jerking her hand up high above his head so she straightened up balancing on her tip toes. She stood mere inches from the man's face, fear evident from the flicker of tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

"Please... Ed... Please..."

A loud crack echoed in the night and her head slumped against her shoulder; the mark and swell of her cheek glistening in the moonlight from the stain of tears that had marked their way down her face. Daryl could see the anger burning in the man's eyes and the nasty curl of his lip as he dared Carol to make another sound. That was the same woman wasn't it? The same one that he'd made that promise to? The one that had made that cornbread just for him? That very same woman that had told him she found him to be _a good man_? That had to be her shitty husband that was treating her like she was dirt from the large gaudy silver wedding band on his ring finger that matched her own.

He couldn't forget a thing like that. Hell he'd tried forgetting that he'd even met the damned woman, but she somehow managed to creep back into his mind. That fuckin' gaudy silver band ever so reflective in his mind.

Daryl could feel the dig of his nails in his skin as he stood an onlooker to her beating. It weren't his business. What was she to him anyhow? She had just been a nuisance to him the past few days. Keepin' him away from his work. Buggin' him to talk and shit. What would it matter to her if he stepped in anyhow? She'd just get the shit beat outta her later that night anyway for some random stranger stepping in to stop the beating she was already gettin'.

He caught her eyes starin' right at him. Daryl didn't think she could see him from where he stood in the shadows. He'd been hiding away to smoke when he had heard the berating of the man. The loud words had drawn him closer to the edge of the tent he had been hiding near, carefully peeking around the corner to see who the voice had belonged to. Lo and behold it had been that Carol woman. She looked like she was silently pleading with him. Eyes wide and sad with how the world seemed to fall onto her shoulders every chance it got. Not even in public did she have a chance of any semblance of normalcy away from the abuse.

Those blue pleading eyes made him question himself. Question whether or not he wanted to be that 'good man' she had thought he was, hell even believed he was. He took a step back outta sight of those eyes that had been beckoning him to step forward and take that hand that had gently touched him with her strong conviction. He was fucked up either way.

Running his fingers along the frown lines of his chin, tangling in the whiskers there, he took a breath. All he heard was the exhale and another loud crack that came from behind him. The wail broke the stilling silence over the dull sounds of the carnival that seemed lost in the tumultuous confrontation playing out. Daryl continued to stand listening as the man... Ed had been his name... Continued to slap the woman.

Slowly cocking his head over his shoulder, he could see Carol still standing. Her shoulders sagging lower than before. Cheeks puffy and swollen from the repeated crack of his hand against the soft flesh. Just as the man was arching his hand up once more, Carol's dropped gaze slowly drew up and for a split second Daryl could swear again that she knew he had been there the entire time. Swallowing hard, heart thrumming faster than it had since he'd left his Daddy's house, Daryl turned his body over more.

"Ya gon' cry 'gain? 'Aint gon' hear ya whinin' 'bout this no more." Ed growled low cocking his hand back more.

Just as Ed was to bring his hand down on Carol once more, Daryl felt a burst of speed come from his legs and he hurried out from the shadows. "'ey! Git yer hands off 'er!" He barked whirlin' the man around and swiftly bringing a fist against the man's face.

A sharp exhale fell of Carol's lips as she backed away clasping her hands over her mouth, tears still runnin' down those swollen cheeks of hers. The man stumbled back hand angrily wiping at his nose where he'd started bleeding. "The fuck're you?" He hissed glancing over towards Carol then back to himself.

Daryl bristled up taking a step forward shoving the man back. "Don't matter who I am. I ain't havin' ya commitin' shit like this on the property. Take yer sorry scrap outta here 'fore I get the cops." He bluffed waving a pointed finger back to Carol to keep her from running over towards Ed. He'd heard the scampering of her feet bustlin' over towards the side of her shitty husband, but Daryl stopped her. Kept his hand poised behind him tellin' her no.

Despite the fear he knew was burstin' through her bones right now, he didn't feel right just letting her go back to the man. Vicious cycles as they was weren't no good for anyone, but just as he knew and had been telling himself before: she was nobody to him. Why did she matter to him?

It had been the words in her eyes and the hope she shot at him. Furrowing his brow, he took a step forward albeit hesitant. Ed having heard the mention of police being presumed to come in at any time to reprimand the situation backed off somewhat. Pointing a wagged finger at Carol, he hissed, venom dripping off each word, "Jus' you wait when you come home, ya hear me."

Throwing his hands up, Ed stalked off kicking over boxes that had been stacked behind one of the tents cussin' a storm as he went along. His heart was beatin' loud in his ears as the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins came down from the high he'd been feeling. Letting out a breath, Daryl threw back a glance at Carol who was still crying, shaking like she hadn't the slightest control of her body.

"What did you do?" She whimpered looking back at Daryl her eyes wide, open with fear.

Taken aback by her words, he felt his lip curl up in a surprised burst of anger. "The fuck did I do?" He repeated roughly fists balling up at his sides. "Lady I just fuckin' stuck up fer ya that's what I did."

"Why...?"

"Why? Ain't that what ya wanted? Ain't that why you was starin' at me fer... ta fuckin' help ya?" He snarled taking a step towards her. Carol recoiled crumpling to heap a on her knees, arms winding tight about her small frame.

Daryl backed off not understanding what he'd done wrong. His brow furrowing at her reaction still not sure how to process what he'd just done. Stepping in as he had. Surely he'd known what this meant for her and sullenly he let his own head droop a little. Shame spilling forth through his own staggered breathing, suddenly coming to realize that he'd signed her a death warrant upon her return home.

"Why didn't you just leave me alone?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please leave a review! Thank you for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am just overwhelmingly sorry for the lack of updates on all my fics. Work and school, juggling... yeah. So this chapter is long. I guess a lot of Daryl as a muse came forth and really get into motion for this. I should warn right now that this piece of fiction is by no means the traditional fluffy sort... at all. I had no intentions of making it like that and if that's what you've come here for, perhaps turning back might be best. Enough of that though, for those of you wanting to see more of Carol and Daryl's story, continue on reading and thanks for putting up with me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All right's belong to the copyright holder.

Daryl had to take a step back from the shaken woman that trembled shirking away from him, flinch crinkled at the corner of her eye. It was that wrinkled brow and deadened stare that made him feel as if he had done everything wrong. That his effort was in vain for trying to do right. And even in that thin veil, that somewhere she was painting him of the same coin as that dead-beat of an asshole husband of hers.

Fighting back the snarl that was working its way upon his lips, Daryl couldn't contain it much longer. What with her shaking and her crying, it was enough to send him on edge. He didn't handle people crying at all. Didn't know what was the right things to say or even remotely the best way to handle such situations. It was like being told to put a complex engine together with a flathead but only given a two-step process that explained it all in Danish. And this sure as hell could have been Danish with the way his mind buzzed around inside that thick skull of his trying to work out the words to say.

When he came up short and feeling even more frustrated than before he ran his callous-marred hand down his face, fingers catching at the scratchy whiskers of his jaw shooting her a narrowed glare. "The fuck were ya thinkin' comin' here anyhow? A man like that an' all them people? Hmph, stupid bitch," he growled stalking away with a sharp wave of his hand.

He was done with this conversation and done bothering trying to do right by this woman. Daryl had done the good deed and listened when she asked not to say anything and he didn't. Wasn't quite sure as to whom he could divulge such information to but it weren't like it would matter anyhow. No one cared much to hear what he had to say when it came down to it. Even if it was some bright idea he had cooked up, it was mocked and then swatted down for another to pick up and say claim it was theirs in the first place. Anything of worth that Daryl held onto wasn't his: ideas and thoughts alike. And it sucked.

There came a snag at the hem of his shirt sleeve and he whirled around almost instantly not anticipating that the woman was just at his heels, fingers loosely pulling away, big blue eyes wide with a slight terror. Furrowing his own brow at her, Daryl had to try hard to not hiss that he wanted her out of his space and pronto. Somehow the words weren't going to come and try as he might to just dismiss everything to a night's worth of bullshit and call it quits, Carol was very much now his problem as he could only assume she was now stranded with no means of transportation of getting home or anywhere but.

For a long while the two stood in a silent standoff, almost paralleled to that of when he had done the very same with that scrawny legged daughter of hers and that distinct wet cough that didn't go away even when she managed to clear her throat. Rolling his jaw slowly, narrowed gaze still held fast on the silver-haired woman, Daryl didn't say anything, let his eyes do a once over of her condition. Welt at her cheek bright from the crack of her husband's hand as her tears glistened under the swath of moonlight shining down on the two of them.

"Please, don't go. I don't have anyone else."

His lip curled up at the words she spoke and he had the sharpest inclination to give her a piece of his mind, but when Daryl went to part his lips, nothing tumbled out. All but a grunt and a huff before a deft shake of his head punctuated the frustrations that were currently doing a number on his mental state. In hindsight, he supposed this was a good reason as to why he knew he would never father children of his own. Didn't know heads nor tails on how to deal with them and with his own unbridled temper, it was a terrible cocktail of hurts and pains he didn't want any part of. And perhaps this all fell in line with relationships, too. Women just seemed to be these enigmatic creatures that made no sense to him and the only thing he seemed to know right from wrong was: men didn't strike women. It was a simple rule and albeit one his own Daddy didn't care much to follow in his own preaching of.

Stuffing a hand into his pocket he fished out his matchbook and went to paw at his chest for the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket of his jumper. Wincing some he stopped in mid search and glanced at the pink and bruised flesh of his knuckles noting where he could see scuffs of red where he'd broke open the skin. Scoffing a little, but mostly to himself, Daryl took a final look at Carol as she seemed to be looking on right back.

He wouldn't lie. She was a fucking mess. Tears streaked down her cheeks to the welt where she'd been struck and he was sure as the sun was going to come crashing down on them once it rose, those weren't the only marks she'd received since being at the carnival. Grudgingly Daryl beckoned for the woman to follow along after him. "C'mon, I ain't got all nigh'. Got shit ta do." He growled as he turned to guide them along back to the little cabin on the edge of the carnival grounds, far beyond the parking lot. It almost seemed a world away with it so tucked out near the damned woods, but Daryl reckoned it was for the best. Kept the noise at a distant hum most mornings when things were being routinely maintained that didn't involve him.

Trudging back towards where Daryl had been hiding out, he took a deep lungful of air, letting his eyes flicker up to the pin-prickled night sky with all it's little imperfections and milky white clouds lingering overhead. Twisting a little to make sure Carol was still following along in tow, Daryl didn't say anything to her. Just gave her a nod of his head and made to lead them through the fairgrounds once more.

"Stay close." He muttered as he zigzagged his way through the unrelenting crowd. It still boggled his mind that people went to shit like this as frequent as this town had. Seemed to be packed most nights, picking up around maybe eight o'clock- for such prudish people it made no real sense to him. But who was he to judge? He was just some fucking hillbilly trying to pay off a debt he may never fulfill working as an engine mechanic.

With the how busy the crowd seemed to be, he felt the brush of Carol's hand seeking his out and almost instantly he flinched just out of reach absently stuffing his hand into his pocket, unfettered gaze held directly in front of him. He didn't care to hold hands with the woman and he certainly wasn't there to coddle her neither- no one had ever coddled him and he wasn't about to start now with a grown-ass woman. All he aimed on doing was getting Carol some ice, if there was any in the freezer of the cabin he was staying at, and possibly stealing away for the night in the only thing he'd managed to scrounge up in his time playing cards amongst the other carnies.

He'd won himself an old beat-up pick-up truck back two-states over with a rather lofty sum dangling under his nose. That night he just happened to be the luckiest sunovabitch out of the five men playing their hand at poker. Reckoned with the bit of gas he had left, perchance he could take her to some friend of hers or maybe a room at one of those motels he saw on his way over.

The crowd got rather large and thick all of a sudden and as Daryl swerved to veer around a set of strollers and small children, he had to hop up a little to see over the sea of heads bobbing. Fuck. He thought to himself when he didn't see the woman at his heels or her thin fingers coiled around the hem of his sleeve like he had felt almost seconds ago. Despite knowing that she was no longer following alongside him, Daryl could have easily chalked this up to being no longer his problem but somehow that didn't feel quite right and there was a sudden urgency sidling up in his chest that prodded him to give purchase to taking responsibility for stepping in as he had.

Licking at his lips, his eyes hurried to seek out a small wooden crate from leftover bottles used for one of the rigged games. Swiping to discard the junk that was settled on it, he made to stand atop it. Absently Daryl flitted his gaze over every female face he could distinguish from the mass of faces bustling by. Not a single one had the features he was seeking out. None had those blue eyes he had come to know or that silver hair that wisped at her temples. None had that meek look on their faces neither. From what he could discern, she weren't anywhere amongst the common folk.

"Daryl!"

Looking down at his walkie talkie, he didn't hear its distinct crackle nor the sharp drawl of other slurs followed along after his name was called. What struck him more so was the notion of being called by first name. None of whom he worked with called him by just: Daryl. Most simply called him Dixon or hillbilly. There came a sharp call of his name again and a few booths over his head was snapping to see whom had called to him. Again he heard the warbled pitch of his name and despite the roar of the crowd, his eyes tuned everyone else out. Only thing permeating through the deafening sound of people laughing, jeering, and talking was the distinct sound of his own name.

"Daryl!"

Hopping down from where he had been perched, he hooked around the booth he'd been near and made his way through the back way towards where he had heard Carol call out to him. When he found her, shaking hand at the base of her throat gently massaging to ease her worry, eyes frantically looking him over with a slight pause of relief, Daryl huffed grudgingly reaching out and taking hold of her hand dragging her along. In a way he felt at ease doing this as it reassured him that she wasn't going anywhere now. He wouldn't have to waste any extra time searching her out amongst the density of people in the crowds.

They made their way through the crowd in total silence, guiding her along as they dipped around people and dodging strollers with women too busy to pay much attention to where it was they were heading. If there was ever a time that Daryl wished he didn't have to deal with the public it would be this moment in time. People bumping into him, brushing at the wound of his arm, irritating it more. Occasional trickle of warmth running down his hand as they finally made it out of the madhouse of people.

Passing by the parking lot, he felt Carol's fingers wiggle slightly in his hand and a soft hum. "Mr. Dixon, you're hurting me." She mumbled at his side, timid pitch in her voice as if anticipating her statement to be something she should fear of him.

Letting go, Daryl didn't say anything. Shoved his hands back into his pockets as he led the way through the tall grass and up the rickety boards of the front porch. Holding up a single finger, he gestured for the woman to wait. "Stay 'ere," he mumbled arching a brow at her that meant he wasn't screwing around. It wasn't simply because he was embarrassed of what she might see inside. It had nothing to do with that at all. Daryl wasn't about to let her in and be privy to whatever asshole was currently lurking about ditching their duties much like he was at the moment.

What did they know anyhow? Weren't like they were much in his shoes anyway. He let out a shuddered sigh when he heard no other occupants inside shuffling about or tossing beer cans at the walls as was their means of entertainment. Daryl didn't get it nor partake. Slipping past the menagerie of boxes in his path, he brushed against his arm once more wincing as he made it through. The cramped bathroom didn't have much of anything inside. He could have sworn there had been a mini first-aid kit in here that he had stashed away.

Rummaging through the medicine cabinet, he didn't find anything that he was looking for. Sighing heavily to himself he made his way back through the hallway and into the small kitchen. Pulling at the red grease rag from his back pocket, he whipped it out, cracking it so any loose particles that clung to it were hastily removed. Pulling at the worn handle of the freezer, clatter of ice cubes fell to the ground where the ice maker had been producing excessive amounts. Adjusting the dial for the ice, he gathered up several ice cubes and wrapped them up into the rag. Giving the cloth a quick spin, he knotted it up enough that the ice wouldn't fall out.

Thrusting the freezer door shut, he padded through the kitchen and back out to the front porch, nudging the screen door open with the toe of his boot. "Here, take it," he mumbled offering the makeshift icepack to Carol as he came to sit on the bench of the front porch, head lolling back to hit the boards of the wall.

She took it hesitantly, fingers roving over the cloth material, worrying her bottom lip as she pressed it repeatedly at her cheek, before keeping it there. With her gaze downcast and the light of the moon bathing the two with harsh shadows, it was hard to tell from where he sat whether or not she was still whimpering and crying from earlier. She wasn't making no sounds from what he could tell so for now that seemed fine enough for him to handle. Daryl couldn't stand women crying- didn't know how to handle such things.

Her soft voice broke the silence as she awkwardly gestured towards his hand. "You're bleeding. Did Ed do that?" She removed the rag from her cheek, fingers playing at the fabric again, head dropped down as she licked her lip not daring to look at him.

Glancing down at his arm, fingers tugging at the soiled cloth strips he'd fashioned earlier, Daryl gave a shrug and unwrapped them from the wound figuring he would just dress them later. "Naw, got this earlier from a crate in that there hallway." He admonished gruffly, fingers brushing along the serrated flesh. He was sure he would need stitches. Most likely he would do them later once he figured out what to do with the woman standing before him.

"You'll need stitches."

Bobbing his head a little, he withdrew his hand away from the wound, letting his hands rest in his lap as he took a long deep breath of clean air that wasn't pungent from the fried oil, the sugary cotton candy, or the smoke of cigarettes. Just fresh clean air to clear his head. "Reckon I will." He drawled in response, eyes shifting to her small form beneath the fringe of his bangs.

"I could... Ya know... Stitch that up for you."

His eyes caught her glance despite the dark that covered most her features. It was in that moment that Daryl felt the most uncomfortable he had felt in a long time. She was extending some measure of kindness to him and for what it was worth, he was insistent on declining it. He had never had anyone bother with him before and even now with the help he was extending to her, this was just something he wasn't used to in the slightest bit.

Shaking his head, Daryl made to shift in his seat on the porch, shoulders slouched low on his back. "I'm fine. Do it m'self later." His remark was sharp, but not aggressive in tone. Daryl was by no means weak and couldn't handle it. He simply just didn't want to take her help. It was just a Dixon thing. Dixons never took no help from nobody. Just a code that he'd lived by and something that wouldn't ever change.

The corners of her mouth seemed to curl downward as if his decision to decline any means of usefulness she could offer was worth something to her. Pursing her lips some, Carol brought the ice pack back to her cheek, nursing the welt from the slap.

"Mr. Dixon, could you take me home when I'm ready?"

"Why? So that husband o' yers can jus' beat ya 'gain?"

There was a pause. A sucking of a sob and then a soft shuddery sigh that filled the silence that had fallen between them for that brief moment. "It's not going to change anything if I go elsewhere. Besides... Ed won't change and as long as..." She trailed off, hand coming to massage at the base of her throat again. His brow arched at the way she stopped and his eyes moved to trail up settling on her face. "As long as I've got my Sophia, I'll do what I can to keep my baby safe."

Working his jaw slowly, his own fingers playing with the fraying of his pants, he dropped his gaze from hers. "Why you tellin' me all this? I don't know you. Don't care what happens. Yer jus' another person."

"Mr. Dixon... I think that's... that's a load of shit. If you didn't care what happened to me, you would have went on by and not taken a second's glance in my direction. But you didn't." Her voice was wavering now in the dark and the tone she had taken was hardly meek at this point. There was a small spit of a fire burning in her words. A flicker of flame he had yet to know from this woman in the chanceful of meets they'd shared thus far. "You're not as bad as you think you are." Turning on her heel, she didn't look back at him again. Simply uttered a soft: I'd like to go now.

Rolling his jaw slowly, the pointed finger of her words prodding at him slightly, Daryl grunted as he got up to his feet brushing past her without much another word spoke. In his head he was cussing up a storm over this woman and her words that were sinking slowly into his thick skull of his. How was it that she kept doing that to him? Digging those claws of hers into him like he was supposed to care about what happened to her? Harken to his own abusive past he had suffered.

The brush of grass that echoed along his own hurried pace was vaguely heard behind him as he trudged towards where several cars and pick-ups were parked. Shoving his hand into his jumper pocket, he fished out his keys storming his way over to the passenger side of the familiar Ford F-250 that he'd won in a hand of cards. Probably the only thing he was remotely proud of in his life. A luck of the draw and then some.

Fumbling with his keyring trying to get the right key, he shoved it into the keyhole when he found it and turned it quickly, thrusting the door wide as it groaned in protest, hinges worn down. Slamming the door shut, he huffed to himself as he sat alone in the cab catching the subtle form of Carol's outline through the glass of the passenger side door. She was shuffling in place from what he could tell, head ducking down to look at her feet as her gaze came to settle on his own and he felt almost obligated to let her in as it had been his suggestion in the first place.

Leaning over across the cab bench, he pulled up on the locking pin, fingers stretching to grasp at the handle, before pushing it open awkwardly with a quick feathered push. Carol climbed in quietly, shutting the door just the same as she had entered, setting her worn bag between her feet at the floor boards. The rag full of ice was in her lap, fingers still playing at the hem of the bundle as her head drooped back, eyes downcast away from the bright lights of the carnival. Daryl honestly couldn't blame her. Damned things were too bright as they were, but he knew that wasn't why she wasn't bothering to look up.

It wasn't hard for him to see himself reflected back when he looked at her. A splintered spitting image of himself in a lot of ways, but otherwise not quite at all.

"Take the main road into town. 'Bout a good twenty minute drive if you stick to the speed limit."

"Yes, ma'am."

Turning the key in the ignition, the pick-up sputtered before a gentle hum came from the dash and he flicked the lights on. The beam wavered, fizzled, then lit up as if it hadn't the strength to bother before. Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Daryl gave the woman in the cab another once over before muttering, "Git yer harness on."

Doing the same for himself, his hands fell into place, one at the back of the cab bench as he turned in his seat glancing out the rear panel window making sure he didn't hit anything backing up. When all was clear of his view, he cranked the gear shift back to D and the pick-up lurched a little before it fell into a steady speed. The two of them were somewhat jostled about inside the cab as they went over some dips in the field, likely where gophers had made their tunnels before a decently paved dirt road was felt beneath the traction of tires.

Neither said anything. There didn't seem to be much else that needed being said after the small outburst that had come spilling forth from this meek woman he had sitting in his truck. In the back of his mind, Daryl was trying to figure out where everything had suddenly snowballed and he was now entangled in this mess of a domestic dispute he was most likely going to be part of. If he'd only just left that little girl there... perhaps he wouldn't have been in this mess. Likely not.

Trouble had a way of finding him and it wouldn't have made much a difference if he had or not. When he swam so far up shit creek, it was way too hard for him to get out of it.

Maneuvering the steering wheel with one hand, he reached down at the side panel of his door, rolling down the window some as it was stifling in the cab, having sat out in the unrelenting afternoon sun. She seemed to take cue from him and mimicked his motions, cranking the handle several times until the window was down almost the same as his own. A snort came from him albeit softly at the woman at his side.

The silence continued on just the length of time she had said he would be puttering on down that lonely road. It certainly was out of nowhere that was for sure. Not a single light save for the beams of his own headlamps as they continued driving past large swaths of farmland on either side of the road. Distant braying of the livestock that was milling about in the fields. Chirp of crickets resounding out amongst the whip of wind rushing in. It all mingled in the cab- almost reminded him of home.

There came a shudder and the bones of his vertebra cracked at the sudden jerk of his neck when he turned to look in her direction. Again Carol had the same pursed lips, the deep set of a frown etched into her features from what little light reflected back. He didn't have to keep his eyes on her the entire duration to know that she was scared shitless. As much as he had been claiming he didn't give a damn about this woman, somewhere deep in his chest there was a small slip of anxiety coming to blanket him. Daryl knew what was coming. There was no denying it that the moments he was sharing with her would likely be the last he would ever have with her again.

The thought was disparaging. He'd always thought his own Daddy would just kill him. Be done with the issue of having to discipline his boys the best he could, but he didn't. Left him as this whipped dog of a man left to settle a debt that he knew he could never pay off. He weren't any good at nothing but fixing engines and that was what he had found himself doing. Of all things though- carnival engines? Even Daryl had to shake his head at the notion that there was certainly other opportunities elsewhere but where were those shining moments for him?

"Get onto Main Street and take a left. The fourth house on the left with the Cherokee..."

It was her house. She didn't have to finish her train of thought for him to come to that deduction. Coming to a creep, they paused at a Stop sign before he continued on down the road. The streetlights were on. It was pretty small town just as where he had grown up. There was a slight comfort in knowing that as he came to another stop and saw the sign that read visibly Main Street.

The houses that he drove past were like the typical ones he saw in movies. Picket fences with the single car that sat by itself in the driveway. Maybe a tricycle or a bike left on the grass from children that afternoon. All commonplace in movies that tried depicting the American dream. It was laughably ironic that he found himself driving along to drop off this woman to be beat by her husband in a utopic neighborhood that likely didn't know this all was going on behind closed doors. And he was just some redneck mechanic she had met.

"We're here." Her voice soft and shaking as she shifted uncomfortably in the her seat.

Pulling up to the house she had indicated, he gently shut the engine off and waited a moment. The pair of them sitting, stewing in their thoughts over what was to come. His fingers lightly rolling along the wheel, not quite sure where it was he wanted to put them as he was feeling all sorts of anxiety prickling through his body. If it wasn't for her the feeling wouldn't be nearly as bad, but he could feel it coming off her in waves and the prospect of what he knew was inevitable was here at the forefront. Hell, he'd just taken it to its fucking doorstep of all things.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he glanced over towards Carol from beneath the fringe of his bangs, not daring to look at her. The look in her eyes was damned near blank from he could tell. Turning slightly, she shifted again as her fingers came to click the harness button and the belt retracted back against the panel.

"Thank you Mr. Dixon... for everything."

Without another word exchanged between them, the door creaked open and she stepped out of the cab giving him one last look and a crooked grimace before turning her back taking those steps up to the front door.

Daryl waited. His hand had already been on the key waiting to turn it and just head in the other direction, but he was somehow compelled to watch. To wait. Watch the car wreck as it happened.

As soon as the first rap of her knuckles against the door could audibly be heard over the chittering of june bugs, the door was thrust open and visibly Daryl could see her husband waiting on the other side. His head craned to look back at Daryl and for a moment his posture went rigid and he froze. Deer in the headlights. Weren't much he could do now. Carol glanced back at him for a brief second before Ed grabbed at her arm and wrenched her inside the house.

The loud crack of the door slamming echoed over all the noise buzzing about in his head. The urgency in his bones for him to leap out of the cab and storm towards the door was strong, but... but this wasn't his fight and there wasn't anything he could do that would make things any easier.

Without much more left to do, Daryl turned his attention away from the door, away from the flicker of shadows against the curtains that were draped at the windows, away from what he already knew was transpiring. Turned the key without another glance and felt the momentum of the pick-up pull forward and he made his way back out the way he had come. Back towards the carnival in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review, if you'd so kindly!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much explanation as to why this has taken so long. No triggers really here. Thanks for still sticking with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

That damned woman was on his mind. Couldn't loose the feeling that he'd gone on and done something fucking stupid like he had getting all tangled up in with their marital dispute. She'd asked him why and well, the stupid son of a bitch just couldn't put words to make meaning of the why. Just that he had and he regretted it every day since he had dropped her off at that house. Could still see the way her eyes lit up with fear when that hand came yanking her back like this was her curtain call.

That drive back home had been a terrible one. Didn't know of any other drive that could make him feel as despicable and disgusting as that drive had. Every bump in the road was a rasp of her voice telling him that he'd gone and fucked up. Made shit harder for her than it should have been. Daryl should have just kept his nose out of her business. Should have just walked on by. Let that asshole husband of hers lay into her for whatever it was she did or didn't do. Who was he to come in the middle of things? Just because he had told her he would keep her promise didn't mean nothing in the long run of things. Word traveled like wildfire— weren't nothing going to stop that from happening no matter how much she willed it. Carol was dead either way from what he could tell.

That bear of a man would swat her down and then some given the opportunity with no repercussion. There was no denying that. When Daryl's fist had gone smashing against that cheekbone of his, despite the thick layer of fat between, he could feel the strong angle of bone that had once been there. Reckoned in his heyday this man he was laying into probably had been a star-stud athlete like all them women liked. Football players with their letterman jackets and flashy grins. The people everyone wanted to know. Some life that must have been. Probably a has been. Most likely. Men like him didn't let themselves go like the way he had unless he'd been injured or some suspension heavily crushed a career that had just been blooming.

Yeah, that was probably it. Knocked her up and then saw everything as her fault. Her fault she bore him a scrawny looking girl than a strapping boy. Her fault that dinner wasn't finished by the time he had gotten home. Yeah, shit like that… he'd lived through something like that. Knew what it was that she was dealing with.

Maybe that had been the reasoning.

"Dixon!"

His eyes flashed finding them landing on Jackson who looked red in the face and pissed as a hornet. Bracing himself for some verbal lashing, Daryl sauntered off towards the man.

It was only a few yards of space that had separated them but apparently having that distance wasn't enough to satisfy the stocky man. "The fuck're you doin' fucking lollygagging over there? Huh? You deaf boy? We gotta wrap this shit up and get to moving again. Ya ain't born yesterday. Git that shit on the trucks and I mean now! We got road to burn."

It all seemed to come in one breath and Daryl simply gave a nod without an answer moving to heft the large boxes from the small cabin he'd been sharing with a slew of other carnival hands. The bandage about his arm was still wrapped tight. The wound had slowly been getting better over time, but with all the sweat, dirt, and grime that came with his job, Daryl could only manage to keep the damned thing from festering. Antiseptic was what he was really needing and he was kicking himself for not having stopped to pick something up.

At least once every other day, he would take his pick up when downtime was slow and nothing needed working on and Daryl would slip away. Putter on down that lonesome prairie road back into town where it was Carol lived. It took some memorizing but he remembered it when he made the fifth pass his first night. Caught sight of that tan Cherokee that sat parked in the driveway. And for a few minutes Daryl would sit, eyes flickering over the drawn drapes trying to catch a glimpse of the woman he had sent back to her death. And that was what it had been. All spoken in that one look she threw his way before she was pulled out of view.

He hadn't seen her since.

His stomach knotted on itself, but Daryl continued on anyway, wrangling up boxes and dropping them off near the trucks. They were supposed to have been gone by this morning, but something had come up and things had gotten delayed. Daryl didn't care. The longer time he had in this podunk town the better chance he had of that woman coming back to see him possibly. Wishful thinking as it was. Hope that somehow he hadn't been responsible for some domestic dispute or some shit like that.

There had been hide nor hair of Carol Peletier seen since that night and Daryl pondered whether he had done the right thing. Whether his choice in taking her back had been the right one. Hell there had been some little rundown motel he could have just dropped her off at. Lend her money for a phone, maybe call her Momma or some relative that cared to come take her off his hands. And for that moment, Daryl had to reconsider what it was he had been thinking. In his mind, he had simply been looking at her as a problem he simply was looking to pass off to someone else— really this wasn't his problem and he sure as shit wasn't going to take care of her like she was his woman.

No woman had ever wanted him like that— not even the ones Merle had paid to pretend to like him for the night. No. Stints like that were quick and without words being exchanged beyond faked names and cheap thrills. There wasn't any intention of seeing them again and no reason to bother with some first name basis that would be forgotten the next night or hell, even that very hour once time was up and gone.

A shove at his shoulder had him dropping the box of colored tarps that draped over the back of the booths to keep the guests from peeking behind the scenes. Looking up he caught sight of the scraggly mop of hair belonging to Tommy, toothy gapped grin being shot in his direction. Daryl scowled but said nothing. The man had been goading him on ever since he'd come back the next morning from dropping off Carol. He aimed to figure out why it was Daryl had left the fairgrounds for some ulterior motive that Daryl frankly gave no shits about. He could care less that Jackson found out about his rendezvous out in the town trying to catch a glimpse of Carol for the sake of his own sanity that he simply didn't just send some woman to her grave.

"Whatsa matter Darylina? Yer faggot ass still up in them clouds? All ponderin' like 'bout that pussy you ain't gettin'? Bitch went an' left ya high an' dry. That's what it is." He crowed, scooting the tarp over with the toe of his boot, inching it just enough out of Daryl's reach that he would have to get up and grab at it. "Hmm?"

In mid-reach for the tarp, he paused for a second, teeth grinding back and forth, molars gnashing against its opposing set. Getting to his feet, Daryl took one look at Tommy before bull rushing into the man, sending him on his ass. In a matter of seconds, he was on top of the man, bringing fist after fist into the man's chest before grabbing a fistful of his collar and laying into him good before a set of hands came clasping over his arms pulling him from the now cowering and sputtering heap of a man.

He had known that stupid son of a bitch was always all talk and never any means of backing it up. It just went along with the fucking adage of cashing a check that your ass just couldn't cash. And Daryl had been right. Oh god had he been right and despite the cussing and the hollering and the thrashing about that he was doing in retaliation of Tommy's instigation, there was a swell in his chest that made him grin like some stupid prick. He could only glean to imagine what all Tommy's face would look like once he was done with him.

And he left after that. Went out to the edge of the fairgrounds like he had that one night. Came to sit atop that rail bar, fingers pawing at his chest for his cigarette like he had that night. And just as he was looking to light that cigarette, he felt a catch in his chest as his gaze came to falter on a figure moving towards him.

It was her.

She stood there with that meek smile of hers and that quiet presence. Moved over towards where he was, hesitated a bit, before finding that he wasn't going to run away.

"Hello," she said then waited.

He didn't respond immediately to her greeting. Sat there with his mouth ajar and the cigarette dangling there like he'd seen a ghost. For a second her smile faltered and she composed herself a little by giving that patchwork bag of hers a shrug. The way her fingers went running behind her ear, he could imagine a twist of hair moving past if it had been long enough for it to do that.

It was then his eyes went searching her face. The gentle angle of her cheekbone was devoid of any bruising. Nothing he could visibly see. Couldn't see where she had applied any makeup. His Momma did that. Dabbed the stuff all over trying to conceal the purples and blues that marred her cheeks. Strangely he couldn't see much of anything. No limp in her step. There weren't nothing there.

And his brow rose in question unsure of whether he should ask. Worked his jaw and said nothing.

"I made you something." She stated simply. Rummaged through that bag of hers before pulling another paper bag. He didn't have to know what all was in there. Could smell the rich sweet smell of that cornbread she'd made him that one week. She held it aloft in hand, faint twitch of her lips as she waited on him to take it.

And like the hardy fool he was, Daryl didn't take it.

Didn't know if he was capable of taking this sort of peace offering. Whether or not he deserved such kindness from her. And again her smile faltered some. Pulling down into a frown as she pursed her lips looking down at her worn shoes.

"Ed… he didn't… well, he…"

She didn't need to finish her sentence for him to know what it was she was trying to say. Knew it in the way her shoulders slumped a little. Saw it in the way she still spoke meekly of the man she'd married. Daryl looked away. Wasn't sure if this was right. That him listening to her speak about this was okay.

"Nevermind," she finally muttered taking a step forward and holding out that paper bag. The sharp crinkle of it held betwixt her fingers as she gave Daryl another pleading look. "Please?"

She seemed to be begging for him to take it. Like her heart was set on it. And like the wary scrap of human he was, Daryl gave his head a shake. There was something more to this than she was letting on and he wanted none of it. This would be the last time he would ever see her again. In an hour he would be gone. Headed to the next town like they always were. Chasing the sun in an endless marathon that didn't seem to end. Simply melded with each day that slipped past.

"What fer?"

"Because you helped me."

It had been a simple enough reply. But that wasn't good enough for him. It couldn't just be that easy. And despite the nagging need to know if she'd been okay despite her standing right there in front of him, Daryl wasn't satisfied with just that. He'd been driven to the point of parking out in front of that god forsaken house almost every night seeking out some small smidge of hope that she'd been alive. That he hadn't been the reason that a woman had been killed in some domestic dispute because he'd brought her home. Because his selfish ass had wanted to be rid of this burden. This problem.

And for a moment, he had to fight back the chuckle that would feel weird coming from his chest. Hope. When had he ever had hope for anything? All the years he'd been under the thumb of his Daddy, there had never been hope that he would get out when he did. That the beatings would stop once he got himself a way out? No, that shit persisted. And it didn't matter none that he'd somehow managed to get out. The scars on his body were a constant reminder that he would never escape. The words that had been drilled into him since he was real little would never leave him.

They would always be there. Always constant. Always there at the back of his mind to goad him into believing all that was true. That he was really nothing.

Hope.

It hadn't done anything for him. The prayers. They never worked. God wasn't listening. His Momma. She was dead. Fire had killed her. And Merle. He was too strung out on the drugs and the liquor to care what all happened to him.

And another spell of silence slipped in between them like it seemed to do before he jumped back to the present. Remembering that he wasn't back in his Daddy's house. That he was still here on the fairgrounds. That he was sitting in front of a woman he had believed dead the last week or so.

Swallowed that guilty lump in his throat and began to speak. Voice rasping to suss out what he was wanting to say. Found that his mouth wasn't working and the words weren't coming. Got mad and glared hard at the ground where she had just been looking.

"I didn't help ya. I sent ya back ta get beat on 'gain. Ain't no help in that." He retorted, removing the forgotten cigarette from his mouth, tucking it back atop his ear, fingers curling about the rail in a white knuckled grip. There came to be a nervousness in the air as the two stood in quiet standoff and he wished she would just leave him be. That she would stop looking for him as if he was something that she needed to seek out. Like he was worth something to her.

No, she couldn't care about him even if she wanted to. He was just some jackass that happened by.

Huffing to himself, he tilted his head to look back at the woman. That damned bag still held out for him to take. And that crinkle-eyed frown she was wearing. Like he had gone and smacked her good, too.

What did she want from him?

He'd done what he had said he would. Didn't say nothing about her being there with her girl. Didn't talk nothing about when he had gone and hit that husband of hers good in the face. Kept his trap shut like he always did. Always did best when his mouth wasn't moving and his thoughts were kept to himself. Of course she wouldn't know that about him. Hell, like he had known before—

This would be the last moment he would catch a glimpse of this woman. Of this Carol Peletier again.

With that belief stuck in his mind, Daryl hopped down from that rail. Tight groan of the weight being shifted from it as his boots met the ground and the crunch of gravel sounded out all staccato like between them. Snatched that bag good out of her hands, still cocking a steel glare right on back at her. And for a second, he felt bad. Felt bad that he imagined he was the first person. No. Probably the first man to show her some lick of kindness.

Awkwardly his hand came to rub at the back of his neck feeling that slip of shame settle deep in the pit of his belly. Only a handful of times had ever made him feel like. Could barely count the times it had been like that. A few of them being when he was around this woman.

This frail, meek woman that reminded him so much like his own Momma except not. His Momma had given up. Took to the drinking and the smoking real heavy. Sometimes forgot that he was even there when she would, should have been watching him. There was something there beneath the fan of those lashes, in the pools of those wavering blue eyes that Daryl couldn't quite put a finger to and he wondered then if he ever would.

There came a sharp whistle piercing through that silence that had settled between them and she jumped not anticipating the sudden sound. Daryl ignored her and turned his head in the direction of the caravan waiting and ready to go.

"Well, I suppose, this is good bye then."

"Yeah," he muttered as his body pivoted slowly to return a look back at Carol. "Reckon this is it."

\--//--//--

The good bye was awkward. She'd tried to reach out and touch his arm, but he'd quickly recoiled. Not familiar with the touch, bringing up his shoulder to shield himself in a way. Took a hesitant step back in the direction of his pickup, before spinning on his heel and hurrying off. The last glance he shot back in her direction, she'd been gone.

The look that had flickered faintly across her eyes had been a deep hurt. It was a means of her connecting with him and he had shied it away. Tucked that tail between his legs and hurried off like the bell was ringing and he was late to class.

Trucks were pulling out. One by one. A long line of trucks and vehicles all neat in a row. Daryl was always the last to leave. Stuck around a bit to ensure nothing was left behind. And like always, everything was picked clean like they had never been there. Simply ghosts that just up and vanished. And he liked it that way. Figured it was better than leaving trails where someone could follow. Didn't know why that eased his mind some. Perhaps it was the notion that he was more or less untraceable.

That maybe if there was no tracks from him that his Daddy wouldn't follow.

Sucking in a deep lungful of air, Daryl made tracks towards that podunk pickup that sat all by its lonesome at the edge of the forest. Out of the way of everything. In the sticks like he had grown up. Fished his keys out of his pockets before unlocking the latch and hopping in. Tossed that paper bag in the passenger seat where she'd sat and waited a moment there. His bags were already in the bed of the pickup. A single military duffle bag he had taken from when Merle had been in the Corps. It had been put to good use over the years and it was a measure of comfort he kept with him.

And for a while, Daryl just sat in the driver's seat. Stared long and good at that bag that Carol had given him before reaching out. Grabbed it carefully and set it in his lap. Again he waited. Contemplated whether he should opened the damned thing or chuck it out the window. Thought better on it and began to open it up. The savory smell of honey wafted up and he made to shove his hand in when his fingers clasped over something.

She'd left him something else beside the cloth wrapped cornbread. Withdrawing his hand, enclosed neatly in an envelope was a note. His brow raised some. She'd actually written something for him. Rolling his jaw, tightness catching in his chest, his fingers worked to open up the note.

A slow exhale left his lips, he didn't know he had been holding as his eyes skimmed the small slip of paper. The tidy handwriting was scrawled almost hurriedly. Could tell by the way her words almost blended together like she'd been doing something she ought not be doing.

"Mr. Dixon,

Thank you for taking me home. It might not have been something you were looking to get tangled in, but I do appreciate that bit of kindness you showed to me.

I think things are looking up for me. Ed didn't hit me. I don't know if that is supposed to mean anything, but it's something and I'll take it.

You're not as bad as you think are, Daryl. You're a good man.

Sincerely,

Carol"

And Daryl would have crumpled that note and thrown it out the window had it not been for that last and final set of words written down at the corner. Tore that piece off, slipped it beneath his driver's license and folded the rest of that note into his wallet. He wouldn't look at it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'd like to say that I don't know shit about engines and tried researching the ferris wheel, but that bastard is hard to get meaty information on... so /shrug if it's wrong. It can't be helped. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it! Don't forget to review!


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